


Beautiful Grief

by CaliopeJones



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Humor, Depression, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliopeJones/pseuds/CaliopeJones
Summary: It is the anniversary of Kuina's death and Sanji witnesses Zoro's memorial rituals.





	1. Chapter 1

Sanji once again found himself cleaning up in the galley later than usual. The party on the beach earlier in the evening included several townsfolk that the Straw Hats had assisted with what felt like another routine “rescue the villager de jour”. As such, there was considerably more than the standard amount of dirty pots, pans, and dishes. Brook and Ussop had been by earlier to help out before heading to their bunks, but Sanji still had to finish inventorying his shelves and compiling a shopping list for tomorrow ‘s market before they left the island. Luckily, most of the rest of the crew were staying in town on the island and the chef wouldn’t be disturbed.

He had rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt back down, and was thoughtfully attending to the care of his knives, when the mossy moron entered the galley and sullenly mumbled something about sake.

“Speak up, idiot marimo! No one can understand your caveman grunting,” he irritably chastised the green haired swordsman. While waiting for a response, Sanji started carefully cleaning and checking the sharpness of the carving knife, brushing the blade back and forth across the whetstone a couple times before wiping it off with some oiled cloth.

“May I have a small bowl of the good sake?” the shit swordsman grumbled hoarsely, finding something apparently fascinating around his feet.

“What the fuck do you need my good sake for?” Sanji asked, pointing the knife in his hand at the swordsman. Sanji had noticed that Zoro had been drinking more heavily than usual that evening. Conspicuously more considering the bottomless alcohol pit that was the swordsman. “Didn’t you already have enough to drink at the party, shitty alcoholic? How are you even still standing?”

“Fuck!” Zoro huffed out, suddenly deflating and looking almost defeated. “Just give me the damned sake. I don’t need a lot, just a small bowl…..Please, Sanji.”

Sanji’s eyes widened in complete shock. Firstly, the moss head never ever called Sanji by his name, and secondly, the apocalypse would happen before he would ever say “please”. What the hell was going on?

He looked Zoro up and down carefully, noticing the slumped shoulders, the downcast eye, the sense of utter withdrawal and retreat. Making a decision, the cook placed the carving knife into the block and opened the cupboard where the good sake was stored. After some consideration, he pulled out one of the bottles. Putting one of the nice sake bowls from the dying rack onto the counter, he poured some of the sake into the bowl and handed it to Zoro.

Sanji noticed that the swordsman’s hands were shaking slightly as the chef handed over the bowl, and the moss for brains would not look up to allow the cook to catch his eye. The swordsman quickly looked down at the sake bowl and steadied his hands, before turning with a huff and pushing out of the galley. Sanji remarked to the back of a green haired head, “Don’t spill it, asshat. That’s the expensive stuff.” 

After the galley door was slammed shut, Sanji went back to finish up his end of day routine, wiping down counters and tables, putting away dishes and closing up cupboards, writing out his shopping list for the following day, and doing a quick prep for tomorrow’s breakfast. Satisfied that there was nothing else left, he pulled off his “kiss the cook” apron, let himself feel the exhaustion of a very long day, and left the galley to head to the men’s bunkroom.

As he began walking down the stairs, he stopped in his tracks, completely stunned by the sight in the middle of the grass on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro, dressed only in his black cargo pants and combat boots, was performing a single sword form with Wado Ichimonji. It was nothing like Zoro’s usual forms. Normally, the swordsman’s forms were aggressive and fierce, showcasing the swordsman’s overwhelming power and skill. Every thrust and turn forcefully brutal, every slash and step deadly and devastating. But this… this was…. elegant. Every step fluid and careful, like the hush and whisper of the ocean against the side of Sunny’s hull in calm waters. Every arc and push of the ethereal white katana gentle and slow, like the soft tangle of the breeze in the sails on a quiet day. Sanji couldn’t breathe.

The form ended, breaking Sanji from the spell. As Zoro turned toward a small crate upon which had been placed the small sake bowl and a stick of incense, Sanji caught a brief glimpse of the swordsman’s face in the full moonlight, showing shiny tear tracks trailing down the stoic and serene visage. Sanji’s heart shattered into pieces, and he muffled a quiet sob while trying to stay out of sight when he also noticed the bandana around the swordsman’s forehead. Whatever this was, it was being done in utmost seriousness. The chef was terrified. What had broken this unbreakable man, his unparalleled rival?

Zoro bowed to the small shrine and moved back into the grass to begin the next form. Sanji was spellbound again as the movements were performed with the same fluid care as the previous. It was breathtaking beauty and honor for a loved one who had passed away, Sanji recognized that now. It was all grace and inconsolable raw grief. It was Zoro’s heart, broken wide open and vulnerable, on display in the shift of the foot and the flow of the sword. Who was it that had deserved such deep reverence from the swordsman? Would Zoro dance like this for the death of any of his nakama? Would he dance like this for Sanji?

That thought startled him, pulling him from his reverie and Sanji started back up the stairs. He should not have seen this. This was something deep and private that the seemingly emotionally detached green haired swordsman would never want witnessed.

When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw a straw hatted head peek around the corner. Luffy. The hat was pulled down over Luffy’s eyes, which shadowed his face in seriousness. Sanji sighed and slumped against the wall next to the galley door, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a slow drag.

“I’ve closed up the galley for the night, Luffy.” Sanji said to his captain.

“Help him,” Luffy said quietly, nodding toward the main deck. 

Sanji was taken aback. Help Zoro? The idiot marimo? 

“How the fuck am I supposed to help? What could I possibly do to help with that?” Sanji whispered with venom, gesturing toward the deck. “I’m the very last person he’s going to want help from.”

“It has to be you, Sanji.” Luffy retorted and walked away toward the men’s bunkroom.

Sanji growled at the back of his captain’s head and stormed into the galley. What was happening tonight? It’s like a bomb of crazy hit the ship. How did this turn into his responsibility? This was Zoro. Kelp for brains. He didn’t need help from anyone. Ever. Fuck.

Sanji wrenched open the ice box and pulled out a bowl of left over rice. Grumbling to himself about mentally deficient captains and moron moss heads, he quickly packed the rice into several vaguely triangle shapes, stuffing some minced sea king and pickled vegetables into the centers. He placed two of them neatly on a plate, leaving the rest on the counter. 

Picking up the onigiri plate and pulling a stick of incense from one of the cupboards, Sanji took a deep breath and pushed his way out of the galley to his death. He knew how this would go. He would disrupt whatever ritual the shitty swordsman was performing for his dead friend or relative. The bastard would then take Wado and kill him, violently. Probably through the heart, or the neck. Well, Sanji had had a pretty horrible life, he supposed. Then it got ridiculous after he joined Luffy and the rest of the Straw Hats. Why not get killed in a pointless show of comfort for the grieving shithead? There are stupider ways to die. Probably not many, but Sanji is sure there are at least some.

He forced himself to calm and walked to the small shrine Zoro had set up. The swordsman was still moving through a form with that unbelievable grace and grief but managed to catch Sanji’s eye with a scowl. Sanji set down the onigiri next to Zoro’s sake, and lit the incense stick, stuffing it next to Zoro’s in the gap between the boards of the crate. Then he stood in silence with his back to the swordsman, watching the incense slowly burn, waiting and wondering what he should do next. He could feel Zoro’s killing intent rise through the haki, but couldn’t hear any change in the rhythm of the form as the marimo continued to move through it.

When Sanji sensed that Zoro was closing the form, he turned to look the swordsman directly in the eye. Zoro charged toward the cook with murder on his face.

“You fucking bastard! What the f….?” Zoro began in rage, but Sanji calmly held up a hand to stop the green haired man, taking up no defensive posture.

He moved passed the infuriated swordsman to the center of the deck and stood in stillness, eyes closed. He listened to the beat of his heart and worked to capture the rhythm before he began to move. Taking a couple tentative steps, Sanji started his own dance. 

Soon, he found his own heart blown open and exposed. He kicked out as he remembered his family, with all the bruises both internal and external. Twisted and stomped for his mother and how his whole being was completely crushed when he lost her. Flipped and turned for the agony of starvation on that shitty rock of an island. For Ace’s loss. For his helplessness in consoling Luffy in any way. For the two year separation from his nakama. For all the betrayals on Whole Cake island. His frustrated anger demonstrated in every forceful kick. His bewilderment spun into every spin. His soul emptying sadness turned into every flip. He broke himself wide for anyone watching to see the depths of his true self, with all its guilt and grief, and felt a wetness that tasted of salt stream down his cheeks.

Sanji almost stumbled out of rhythm when his foot connected with something and opened his eyes to see Zoro standing next to him, Wado clenched tightly in the swordsman’s grip. The green haired man’s face holding echoes of the his own tears. 

The chef knew what the swordsman wanted, he wanted it himself. Sanji continued to move over the deck, kicking out his despair while Zoro blocked, deflecting with his brokenness while Zoro struck. It was like all their battles, but with a vast difference of intent. Rather than the usual flurried burst of clash and retreat, their movements flowed with an effortless choreography and spoke of comfort taken and given, of a joint commiseration. Grief shared and spoken with steps and strikes. With shoe and sword.

It may have been minutes or hours before Sanji felt a slowing of the patterns of the combat and eased toward a stop. He looked over at Zoro, sure that his face also showed the exhaustion and momentary contentment he saw in the other’s eye. Sanji felt like he had emptied himself of every little bit of his soul and there was nothing left but quiet. It was good. 

“Thanks.” Zoro muttered, his voice betraying more gravel than usual.

Sanji walked next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Bring those up to galley when you’re done here,” he said kindly, nodding toward the sake and onigiri on the small makeshift shrine, and headed up the stairs. “I’ll meet you up there. Don’t get lost, lawn for brains.”

He heard Zoro chuckle behind him, “Way to ruin the moment, dart board.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first fanfic ever. If you want to see Zoro’s memorial forms, check out Tai Chi sword forms on the internet, especially the wudang and 32 form. I'm already working on chapter 2 and have a rough outline of chapter 3. We'll just have to see where this goes.


	2. Zoro has a plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro makes a plan to honor the anniversary of Kuina's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: grief. panic attack.

The party on the autumn island beach was starting to wind down, and Zoro had not had nearly enough to drink. He’s still not sure how Luffy always manages to find some village wide problem to fix within five minutes of reaching an island, but the little village boy had been rescued safely and the kidnappers had been dealt with efficiently. Not even a challenge. He glanced around at the myriad of empty bottles surrounding him and chuffed a little to himself. Too bad he hadn’t challenged Nami to a drinking duel tonight, he might have actually won. But the alcohol was still not enough to distract him from remembering what happened on this date all those years ago. 

Kuina’s death. 

He needed to do something. His skin itched and his chest felt like one of Luffy’s squeezing hugs had ahold of it, and every once in a while, his vision got a watery blur. Maybe he could perform one of the memorial rituals for her. It had been a few years since he’d had the time or inclination, but since getting back from Kuraigana Island, he’d been thinking of Kuina more and more. Wondering if she’d be proud of his progress toward their goal, or jealous perhaps. He never could tell with her sometimes. 

First things first, he needed to make a plan because this wasn’t going to be as easy as step aboard the ship and starting ritualizing. Step one: do something about the cuddly little reindeer sound asleep in his lap. Step two: sneak into the galley and obtain some of the good sake. Step three: do the ritual. Step four: drink some more. Step five: go to bed. Right, this was the plan. It seemed like a good plan. He was ready to enact it. 

Step one: Do something about the cuddly little reindeer. 

Zoro looked down at his fluffy nakama and gently picked him up while getting to his feet. Holding Chopper close to his chest, he started heading toward the docks where the Thousand Sunny had anchored. 

“Zoro,” his sleepy bundle muttered. “What’s going on?” 

“Shh. I’m taking you back to the ship so you can go to bed.” 

“But Zoro, the ship is the other way.” 

Shit! Why do they keep moving the Sunny to different docks every time he’s off the ship? He turned around and could see Sunny’s main mast in the distance and headed toward it, making sure to keep it within his sight this time. They weren’t going to move it on him again, not while he was watching. 

After walking up the gang plank and trying three different doors, Zoro managed to find the bunkroom. He’s convinced the entire ship has been hooked up to Franky’s soldier docking systems. One of these days he’s going to find the fucking control and break it so the crew will stop moving the rooms around on him without telling him which setting they’re in. 

Placing the sleeping reindeer into his bunk, and making sure Chopper had his plush tanuki doll, Woobie, to curl up with, Zoro tucked the blankets in around his nakama. 

“Zoro?” Chopper asked sleepily, clutching Woobie tight. 

“Go to sleep, kiddo. I have something to take care of first, then I’ll be up shortly.” Zoro said, ruffling the kid’s head, and heading over to the lockers. He pulled off his t-shirt and sniffed it. After four days use including a kerfuffle with a kidnapper, maybe it was time for it to be laundered, so he threw it toward the laundry basket in the corner. He pulled Sandai Kitetsu and Shusui from his haramaki and placed them in their respective racks on the wall, he wouldn’t need them for what he had in mind, then pulled an incense stick and some matches from his locker. 

Step one: Sleepy reindeer is in bed. Check. Ready for step two: Steal some good sake from the galley. 

Zoro shut the bunkroom door quietly behind him and headed back down the stairs to look for the galley, then back up the stairs, and opened the door to the men’s bunkroom again. This fucking ship, shit Franky and his shit docking system. He had been told that exiting the bunkroom, the galley he should be directly across the main deck. He quietly closed the bunkroom door again and turned around to look across the main deck at the other side of the ship. He could see that lights were still on in the galley. Of course, the shit cook would still be up cleaning. He should have known. 

Fuck! 

Step two (revision): Enter galley and politely ask the shitty curly cue if Zoro can have some of the good sake. 

Rubbing his hand up and down his face, he headed to the galley. He just had to get this over with quickly and get on with the rest of the plan. No need to delay his inevitable demise. At least this way his death will be a quick kick to the head instead of the prolonged pummeling he’d get for stealing. 

Staring at the floor and taking a deep breath in front of the door of the galley, he entered the executioner’s domain and muttered, “May I have a small bowl of the good sake?” Shit, why was his chest feeling all squeezy again? 

“Speak up, idiot marimo! No one can understand your caveman grunting,” came the idiot nose bleed’s sharp response. Zoro noticed that the shit cook was cleaning and sharpening his knives. Not a good time to antagonize him then. The swordsman knew that this was the cook’s domain, and while dart brow normally didn’t use his hands for fighting, Zoro’s not so sure he wouldn’t use those knives on someone invading his kitchen. 

“May I have a small bowl of the good sake?” Zoro grumbled a little louder, keeping his head down. Don’t engage. Just don’t engage the love cook. Get in. Get sake. Get out. 

“What the fuck do you need my good sake for? Didn’t you already have enough to drink at the party, shitty alcoholic? How are you even still standing?” The swordsman heard the smirk in the cook’s voice and saw the glint of a knife being waved in his direction from the corner of his good eye. 

“Fuck!” Zoro huffed out. He didn’t have time for this. Normally, he’d love to bait the cook right back and engage in a heated scuffle, but he had a plan and he needed to get moving on it. 

He took a deep breath and felt himself deflate a bit as he let it out. “Just give me the damned sake. I don’t need a lot, just a small bowl…..Please, Sanji.” Zoro had just allowed himself to be defeated by his greatest rival, and without even a drop of blood being spilled. He might as well go and commit seppuku now. Fuck this whole night. 

He stood there for a moment, wallowing in his own humiliated desolation, when he saw a pair of slender hands gently place a small bowl of sake into his own shaking hands. Why the fuck were his hands shaking now? This was getting intolerable. Zoro clutched the bowl in a huff and headed out of the galley, hearing Sanji mutter something about not breaking the bowl as the door was closing. 

Step two: executed in utter humiliation but complete. Step three: perform the memorial ritual for Kuina. 

After making it down to the main deck, Zoro found a stack of crates and placed the bowl of sake on top of one of them. He inserted the handle of the incense stick into a small crevasse between the boards of the crate and lit it. Pulling Wado out of its sheath, he moved to the center of the lawn and stopped to consider exactly what he wanted to do. 

When he was on Kuraigana Island, just beginning to learn how to intentionally use haki, Mihawk had taught him some fluid single sword forms. His mentor had explained that using these forms would help him meditate and focus into the headspace he would need to draw out his haki and cover the blades with them. These forms helped him to see that his mind, body, and will were a single and whole entity, and by using his haki over the swords that he was bringing his blades into himself to become the fullest version of himself. Zoro is sure that Kuina would have appreciated these forms, being a single sword user herself, and he’s decided that his memorial will be to perform these for her as perfect as he can make them. 

Settling himself with some deliberate breathing, he bowed to the small shrine and began moving through the first form. He found himself easily sinking into the meditative state needed for the form. 

The fluid steps of the form were like a river, flowing idly along its banks and over all the roots and rocks that reside in and near it. As he moved his body along the slowly winding steps and gentle sword thrusts, he could feel the ebb and whirl of his sadness washing through him. He began to allow all the barriers and dams confining his grief to crumble and wash away with gentle pace and rhythm. 

He bowed to the shrine again as the first form came to a close and moved into the next. He could sense that the idiot cook and his captain were nearby, but he’d started this and so he’s going to finish it. 

The questions kept coming. Kuina. What was the purpose of her death? She was supposed to be his companion and rival on this journey to be the greatest swordsman. She had forced him to become stronger, faster, greater. He had a goal, Mihawk was his goal, but it was a lonely goal without her. Without someone. He missed her terribly. Why did he have to lose her? Why couldn’t she have stayed? Why did she have to leave him? Why couldn’t she have survived like all the times he had survived his own near-death experiences? Why? WHY? Why did his chest keep feeling like Mihawk was slicing him up again every time he thought about this? 

His nakama were good friends. Crazy ridiculous friends. But they weren’t her. They had their own goals and dreams to chase and achieve. They supported his in their own way, but probably didn’t fully understand it. Not the way she would have. And now he had Luffy’s dream to carry along with his own, and the rest of his nakama. It was a heavy thing to carry someone else’s dream in addition to his own. Having to be strong all the time, to be the dependable one. 

He allowed all these thoughts and emotions to move through him, wash over him, flow away with the slow languid movements of the forms. He had always been bluntly honest with himself. If he acknowledged these feelings and let himself feel them, he will overcome them and they will not control him, cripple him, or weaken him. At the end of it all, everything will be calm and back in balance. 

On a turn of the current form, he wasn’t sure how many forms he had completed to this point, he caught the shit cook’s eye as the idiot walked over to Kuina’s shrine and stood in front of it. THAT FUCKING BASTARD! HOW DARE HE? Their daily pointless squabbles were one thing, blowing off steam, antagonistic but not completely murderous. But this! THIS! This was personal affront heaped on reprehensible insult. This was to honor Kuina, and asshole cook was shitting all over it. Zoro was going to kill him. As soon as he was finished with this form, he was going to murder the cook, slowly and painfully. 

Zoro could feel that the steps of the form were getting a bit sharp and channeled his anger and hatred for this fucker away from the movements to keep them fluid and into the haki to cover Wado’s blade. As soon as the form broke, he charged at Sanji, his full rage coming to bear. 

“You fucking bastard! What the f….?” Zoro began but pulled up as the cook calmly held up a hand looking to stop Wado, but not defend. His HAND. Sanji never put his hands in harms way, for any reason, and yet he did so now. The swordsman felt his rage drain away into complete confusion as the cook slowly walked to the middle of the lawn. 

Zoro watched as Sanji stood for a moment, then the cook began to move. The swordsman wasn’t sure exactly what the idiot eyebrow was trying to do. The chef’s movements were slow and graceful, a quiet kick thrust here, a gentle flip and twist there. When the pattern began to repeat itself, Zoro could see that Sanji had his eye closed tight, and there were tears streaking down he cook’s face. As the chef began to evoke the same form yet again, Zoro could suddenly see it, and it struck him to the core. This was the counterpoint to the swordsman’s own forms! His own grief, reflected in the chef’s! Every parry and turn of Sanji’s body, the response to one of his form’s soft strikes, every kick his own form would deflect and answer. 

He moved into place and on the next turn of Sanji’s form, Zoro began his first form again, feeling the chef’s shoe connect with Wado. Sanji’s eyes connected with Zoro’s, but the form did not break, and the conversation of movement began. 

When Zoro threw out grief, disappointment, solitude, and Sanji flung back comfort, safety, home. Sanji spoke of hunger, despair, and anxiety, Zoro answered with care, hope, and calm. They conversed this way up and down the ship, Zoro rebuilding all his torn down walls with Sanji now on the inside. This was immutable and irrevocable. And at the end of the swordsman’s final form, all he could feel was exquisite emptiness and he could see Sanji felt the same. 

“Thanks,” the swordsman muttered, throwing all the gratitude possible into the word. 

As the cook began to walk past Zoro, he placed a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder and, nodding toward the crate with the shrine, said, “Bring those up to galley when you’re done here. I’ll meet you up there. Don’t get lost, lawn for brains.” 

That ridiculous ass. “Way to ruin the moment, dart board,” Zoro retorted with a grin, and headed for the makeshift shrine, which he saw now included a small plate of onigiri next to his own sake and a second incense stick long since burned away. 

Step three: Completed in unexpected ways. Time for Step four: More alcohol!! 

Zoro grabbed the onigiri and sake from the shrine and made his way to the men’s bunkroom via Ussop’s workshop. He was too exhausted to care about the ever-changing ship at this point. He picked up his discarded shirt that hadn’t quite landed in the laundry hamper and flapped it around in the air a few times before putting it back on. It didn’t smell too terrible, his shirts had definitely smelled worse, and he could put it into the laundry tomorrow. 

After a detour through the library, he opened the galley door to see that the curly brow had set out a larger plate of onigiri and several more bottles of sake on the coffee table in front of the couch. Sanji patted the seat next to himself on the couch. Zoro carefully moved to sit down, grabbing one of the sake bottles and picking up a pair of chopsticks, and hoped to avoid disrupting this tentative peace accord with the cook. 

“Who was it?” Sanji asked, staring down into the bowl of sake he was drinking. 

Zoro’s began to feel like his chest was being pummeled by Kuma again, like it had been at Thriller Bark. 

“Her name was Kuina, she was….” His chest tightened further. “She was….” He couldn’t get his breath back and could feel his heart began to skip around in his chest. He stood up and pulled his hair, eye wide, trying to get breath into his lungs, and fell to the floor, scrambling under the dining table. What was going on? Did the shit cook put something into the sake? No, Sanji would never poison food, he values it too much. But if Zoro didn’t get breath soon, he was going to pass out! What was fuck happening? They need to call Chopper! 

He started to hear a calm voice nearby along with a rhythmic tapping and tried to focus on it. “Breathe in. Two. Three. Four. Hold. Two. Three. Four. Breathe out. Two. Three. Four.” The voice was saying and repeating, the tapping coincided with the words. Zoro followed the instructions, recognizing the breathing technique from his own meditations, and found that he was coming back to himself with each slow measured breath he was able to take. 

“Shit, Zoro. Are you back?” he heard Sanji ask. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Fuck. What happened to me?” 

“Panic attack, I think. Fuck, you scared the shit out of me, marimo. Never seen you do that.” Sanji picked up the fallen sake bottle, drank what was left after Zoro had dropped it, and moved into the kitchen to get a towel. “Don’t do that again if you can help it.” 

“Never done it before. Don’t plan to do it again. Fuck.” Zoro said, and moved back to the couch, grabbing a fresh bottle. “How did you know to do that tapping thing?” 

Sanji shrugged as he bent over with the towel to clean the sake off the floor. “Personal experience, but this is not about me right now. This is for Kuina, and you, so tell me about her. We’ll toast to her many wonderous attributes.” The cook sat back down and opened another bottle, pouring himself some more sake into his bowl and raising it. 

“Fucking love cook,” Zoro commented, with a bit of a chuckle. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he finished off the bottle he was holding and grabbed another one, and then another. 

“She was my rival. And my goal.” he began and told the cook about how the swordsman had challenged her family’s dojo. As he and Sanji drank through several more bottles of sake, and ate the delicious onigiri, the swordsman talked about the 2000 losses against Kuina and loss 2001 after which they had made their vows to become the greatest swordspeople. He spoke about the accident she had the next day, breaking her neck after falling down some stairs. 

“Shit.” was the only thing Sanji could say. 

“Yeah.” They both sat in silence for several minutes, drinking occasionally from the sake bottles. 

“You know, Tashigi looks just like her.” Zoro said. 

“Tashigi, really? Smoker’s subordinate? Well, that explains some things.” The cook said. 

“Like what, dart brow?” 

“Never mind. Tell me more about Kuina.” Sanji said, and Zoro continued to talk about her fierceness, her skill, and her unwillingness to give in. As the minutes passed by and more sake was drunk, the telling got easier and the swordsman felt the weight of his grief finally lifting. He smiled as he spoke of several more things, regaling the cook with stories of their exploits including one of their more memorable fights. 

“So, she battled you all the way through the neighbor’s cow pasture and dropped you into the swamp head first?” Sanji laughed and fell over onto Zoro’s lap. “Is that why your hair is green, morimi, marino, norimamo?” 

“Oi! Shit cook! I think you might be drunk.” Zoro said, looking down at the giggling mess that was in his lap. “I think it’s time for bed.” The swordsman grabbed Sanji around his arms and tried to get him to stand up. 

“Shtap manhandlebing me, schwamp noggin! M’ comforbles right here,” muttered the cook, and pushed Zoro down onto the couch while crawling up to settle on the swordsman’s chest and promptly pass out. What the fuck? Zoro didn’t quite know what to do with this turn of events and was a bit too exhausted himself to care at this point. He felt lighter than he had in years, thanks to the idiot chef. The swordsman would just have to consider all of this tomorrow after he’d gotten some good sleep. He pulled his legs up onto the couch, gently jostled the sleeping chef until he was in a more comfortable position, and hugged his arms around the cook’s back as there was no better place to put them. 

Just as he was about to drift off, the swordsman heard a small voice over by the door way. Glancing over Sanji’s head, he could see Chopper had opened the galley door and was attempting to peek into the room. 

“Zoro?” the little reindeer said quietly. 

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?” Zoro rumbled. 

Chopper came into the room and walked over to the couch. “Luffy took Ussop and Brook back into the village and it got lonely. Can I sleep with you?” 

Zoro smiled. “Sure Chopper. I’m a bit stuck here, but you can sleep down on our legs. Just try not to wake up the cook.” 

“OK, Zoro. Good night. I promise to try to patch you up if Sanji kills you tomorrow.” And with that, Chopper climbed into the end of the couch with his Woobie and both he and Zoro fell asleep. 

Steps four and five, completed to satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out far fluffier than the outline I had suggested it would. Currently finishing the outline for chapter 3. I'm enjoying this, and I hope you are too.


	3. Sanji wakes up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji wakes up after the evening spent listening to Zoro talk about his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Lots of fluff and cussing

_Sanji bustled around the restaurant in a hurried but joyful manner. The lunchtime rush was more crowded than usual, and he could see that there were several groups waiting for a seat. The chef glanced out the large floor to ceiling windows at the sea crashing against the rocks outside. The All Blue was a beautiful deep azure bordering on indigo with large marimo moss balls floating happily around the shore. The greens of the moss were matched by the color scheme of the carpet, table linens and draperies around the dining area. It was perfect. Everything was perfect!_

_The chef walked by several tables, stopping at each to inquire as to how his customers’ meals were, if they needed anything further, would they care to enjoy a small sampler of the specials that would be served later that evening, and so on. Watching people enjoy his food was one of his favorite parts of owning The Pirate’s Rest._

_He paid careful attention to complimenting every beautiful lady, whether young or aging, on her clothes, her eyes, her hair, her smile. Every woman had something beautiful about her, and Sanji was going to make sure each one was recognized for it._

_He wandered back into the kitchen and began putting together a large tray of amuse-bouche that would highlight today’s lunch specials as well as another tray to focus on the evening’s specials._

_“Get your fucking act together, Carlton!” he shouted over to the chef at the grill station with a grin on his face. “You’re going to burn the swordfish steaks! You know our policy on wasting food!”_

_“Yes, Chef!” Carlton piped back with a mirroring grin and turned his eyes back to the steaks cooking in front of him._

_Everything in the kitchen was moving like a courtly dance, every turn of foot, every placement of hand in perfect execution. It was all so perfect, and he could feel warmth bubbling inside of him and around him. He couldn’t possibly be any happier!_

_Sanji checked himself over in the full-length mirror that was at the entrance to the kitchen. The light blue tie and dark blue button-up were doing their job highlighting the vivid blue of his eyes. Pulling on the hem of the black jacket to straighten it and brushing some lint of the matching slacks, he turned to check over his backside. Professional but sexy if he did say so himself. He tugged on his bangs and gave himself a wink then headed back to his work station._

_Taking each of the amuse-bouche trays into his hands, he twirled out of the kitchen and headed over to the host’s station and all the nearby patrons waiting for a seat._

_“My lovely ladies and monsters,” he exclaimed cheerfully to the people sitting patiently in the alcove benches or milling near the entranceway. “I bring you something special from our kitchen to enjoy while you wait to be seated.” He then began serving out the lunch special amuse-bouche, making small talk and throwing out idle compliments._

_Once the tray was empty, he threw out a charming smile and passed it to his lovely hostess, “Would you be a dear, Keiko, and see that this gets back to the kitchen?”_

_She smiled back and nodded her assent. She was perfect, his diners were perfect, the day was Perfect!_

_Sanji sauntered back into the dining area with the other tray. While passing out the dinner special amuse-bouche to the seated diners, he noticed that three of his nakama had just been seated near one of the large aquariums in which small marimo moss balls floated and bobbed cheerfully among the fishes and other creatures. His face changed from his standard warm hospitality smile into one of genuine pleasure. He felt like his whole body was being gently squeezed with warmth and happiness, and he reveled in it._

_“Hello! My beautiful melorines, Nami-swaaaaan and Robin-chwaaaan! How lovely to see you! Anything you want to eat is yours, anything at all, even if it’s off menu. I am completely at your service!” he rambled, gazing lovingly at the buxom redhead wearing the most adorable fox costume, her brandy brown eyes flashing with glee, and the equally buxom raven dressed as a black cat whose smile was hidden behind an elegant well-manicured hand. Then turning to the little reindeer at the table, who was wearing a set of bear footie pajamas made out of bright green fur complete with ears attached to the hood, he said, “Chopper, how can I serve you?”_

_He heard Nami chuckle deeply as she glanced over the menu and said, “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. If you let me get a photo of this, I’ll cut your debt in half.”_

_Suddenly a very warm and surprisingly comfortable earthquake shook Sanji as a deep voice boomed through the venue, “Fuck you, witch. I won’t let you blackmail him, or me.”_

_“Oh, Zoro! You are absolutely no fun, who said anything about blackmail? For that I’m going to increase your interest rate by point 5 percent.”_

_“Nami-swan is so beautiful when she is ordering from the menu!” Sanji murmured and took down her order._

_Since the earthquake didn’t seem to affect any of the diners, Sanji dismissed it from his mind, but he was going to kick that shitty voice’s ass for insulting his precious Nami-swan. Do voices have asses? Sanji could feel that whole-body happy squeezing again, and it felt of warmth and safety and home like one of his amazing sea king stews with freshly baked bread bowls and he wanted to snuggle deeper into it._

_“So adorable!” Robin chimed in, with a crystal giggle, pointing at one of the wines on the wine list. “How much did you let him drink?”_

_“Zoro, I’ve left some pain killers and a large glass of water over on the counter for him to take when he wakes up. Make sure he drinks the whole glass. I’ve put a bucket nearby as well, just in case.” Chopper said, as the ears of his pajama hood twitched around in the direction of the restaurant entrance seeming to take in the sounds of diners and a distantly shouting Luffy._

_That deeply marvelous earthquake shook Sanji again as the shit voice rumbled through the venue, “Sure, Chopper. I’ll make sure to take care of him. Fucking shit cook better not puke on me. And stop noodling around in your sleep, swirly brows.”_

_“Shut the fuck up, deliciously warm earthquake!” the chef retorted._

_“We’re going to head to the market before we have to weigh anchor. Do you know if chef-san left a shopping list anywhere before he went to sleep?” Robin said with a charming snicker, her honeyed voice dripping with sweet affection and her eyes crinkling with laughter. Oh, his beautiful ladies! They were so lovely and deserved an amazing lunch! He wrote “Chocolate Lava cakes on the house” on his waiter’s pad._

_“My sweet doves, how would you like your sea king steaks cooked?” Sanji inquired, wanting to serve them the most perfect meal on this most perfect day in this most perfect restaurant of his own design._

_“SAAAANJIIIIIII! BREAKFAAAAAAAST!” he could hear Luffy screaming, closer than before but was unable to see him outside the restaurant windows._

_“I think there might be one on the counter near the freezer,” the earthquake spoke again, and Sanji tried to burrow further into that comfortable warmth that wrapped around him and smelled of steel shavings and hot cocoa with a hint of cinnamon, clove and chili pepper. “And could you grab Luffy and get breakfast in town, so he doesn’t wake up idiot dartbrow?”_

_“Sure, Zoro,” Nami said as she, Robin and Chopper rose from the table. “Heh. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Sanji is such a cuddler. Well, we’ll be back later in the afternoon. Take care.”_

_He watched as his angels and Chopper left the restaurant, certain that their meals had been perfect, and let himself sink deeper back into delightful contentment._

++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Sanji woke to all of Ussop’s fireworks launching inside his skull and a bag of angry cats clamoring around his guts. He let out a slow groan and tried to lift his aching head up off his mattress. 

“Oi,” his mattress said softly. “You finally awake, eyebrows?” Why the fuck did his mattress sound like that shit swordsman? 

He sat up slowly, feeling all of the thousand needles that came piercing in when he opened his eyes. “My mattress needs to shut the fuck up. Sounds are full of knives. And the world can just fuck off and stop spinning so hard.” 

The bag of cats in his guts seemed to be staging an escape. Sanji felt his mattress grab him and wrestle him off the bed, and the next thing he knew he was face down on the floor leaning over a steel bucket. In the galley? Since when was his mattress in the galley? There was no time to consider this as his stomach launched itself out of his body and straight into the bucket, several times. 

“I’m going to head up to the washroom for a few minutes. I’ll be right back,” the marimo fucker’s voice reverberated from everywhere. 

“Stop being so loud and omnipresent, swamp shit, and just let me…..HURK!” Sanji said as his stomach continued its revolutionary war against his person. The chef heard the click of the galley door shutting and flopped down next to the bucket. It actually felt very cool and soothing pressed against his forehead. He was still lying there several minutes later, cooing and complimenting the nice cold bucket, when he heard the galley door open. 

“Che, switching it out for buckets now, love cook?” he heard Zoro ask. 

“Shut up, marimo skull, it just so happens this is an affair of epic proportions. I’ll kick your ass for disparaging my dearest one,” Sanji retorted, wrapping his arms around the bucket and raising one of his legs threateningly in the swordsman’s direction. 

“I’ll take a rain check on the ass kicking, oh mighty Mayor of Hangovertown, you’re not in any state to be a challenge right now,” Zoro said, and handed the chef a small glass of water. “Rinse and spit, then drink the rest and see if you can keep it down.” Sanji sent the swordsman a withering glance, but sat up, grabbed the glass and did what the moss ball had asked all the same. The chef wasn’t sure his stomach would allow for an all-out brawl this morning, but other than a small belch, it seemed to have calmed down. 

“All right, that’s good,” the green haired menace said, and handed Sanji a couple medicine tablets and a larger glass of water. “Chopper left these and said you’re to take them and drink the whole glass.” 

“Ah Chopper, my savior!” Sanji exclaimed and popped the pills in his mouth. “Santé!” he raised the glass to his lips and gulped down the whole glass. 

A plate of onigiri was shoved into his hands. “Here. Eat.” Sanji grabbed one and took a small bite, chewing and swallowing slowly. Since that onigiri didn’t appear to have any desire to come back out of his stomach, he ate a couple more. 

“Why are you helping me, marimo?” he asked, finishing off the last onigiri. He stood up and placed the plate on the counter. 

“I have my reasons, curly cue. Now, go take a cool shower, you look like shit and don’t smell much better,” grumbled the swordsman as he pushed Sanji out of the galley. “I’ll clean up in here.” 

“Don’t you dare break anything in there or I’ll kick your head off and dance on it!” the chef shouted to the closed galley door, then made his way to the men’s bunkroom to get a change of clothes. 

Why was the moss head acting so weird? Something just wasn’t right here, and he needed to figure out what it was before he went crazy. Since he knew they were weighing anchor later that afternoon, he grabbed a loose tropical patterned shirt and some cargo shorts, then made his way to the washroom. He needed to think. 

Sanji turned on the shower to let it heat up a little, then disrobed and sat down on the shower bench to let the tepid water roll over him. He walked himself through the events of last evening to see if he could pinpoint what might have happened to make the shit swordsman behave so strange today. 

As the water washed over him, he ticked off in his head the things he could remember. Cleaning the galley. Marimo asking for sake. Watching Zoro’s forms to honor his dead friend. Making some onigiri. Joining Zoro’s forms. Going back into the galley with Zoro. Watching the swordsman have a panic attack. Drinking sake and listening to tales of the swordsman’s friend. And then going to bed. But he didn’t quite remember going to bed, he woke up in the galley. So, he must have slept on the couch in the galley. But if that’s the case, why was Zoro so close to him when he woke up? 

His sweet Nami’s voice drifted through his memory, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Sanji is such a cuddler.” Followed by Robin’s lovely giggle, “So adorable! How much did you let him drink?” Then the moron moss head’s gentle voice right next to his ear, “You finally awake, eyebrows?” And that deliciously comfortable warmth that smelled of steel and spiced chocolate…..oh FUCK! He had fallen asleep on the couch in the galley WITH ZORO! And his beautiful melorines had seen him CUDDLING THE SWORDSMAN! 

Sanji slumped over putting his elbows on his knees and his face into his hands. What should he do about this? If the shit swordsman was trying to bait him by embarrassing him into a fight, then the last thing he should do was concede. He needed to be the better man about this. On the flip side, Sanji had drunkenness as an excuse. But since Zoro never actually got drunk, no matter how much the moron marimo consumed, the swordsman didn’t have anything near the same excuse. On the other flip side, Zoro was acting like all of this was a normal everyday occurrence and didn’t that just chafe the chef’s pride. 

However, when he thought about all the things that night which lead up to what Sanji had decided to call “The Situation”, it had been…. weirdly nice. Several hours of drinking and listening to Zoro talk about something very private. Sanji felt like he had connected for the first time with the swordsman in a way that was more than the adversarial method they’d grown used to. Like an extra layer was added to their nakamaship that hadn’t been there before. But a layer of what? Compassion? Maybe. Consideration? Unlikely. Friendship? Sanji chuckled to himself at the irony of that last one. 

The water in the shower began to get a little colder, and he needed to stop thinking about this and come to a decision. Sanji turned the shower off and stood up, grabbing a towel to dry off. He supposed that he didn’t need to get it all figured out in one day. The chef was an adult, and he was going to damned well act like one. He was going to ignore “The Situation” entirely and behave like it had never happened. 

As he dressed, he could feel the headache finally starting to fade. Mmm, Chopper was amazing! But he was still feeling a bit hungry in spite of the onigiri earlier. Important things first, though. Smoke then food. 

Sanji made his way out of the washroom only to find Zoro standing directly outside the door with a scowl on his face and a plate of something in his hand, which he thrust at the chef. 

“Eat.” grumbled the green haired moron. 

The chef took the plate and shouted, “What the hell is this, shit swordsman? Who said you could make food in my kitchen?” 

“It’s a fried egg sandwich, and while I know it’s not up to your prissy standards, just fucking eat the damned thing. You don’t waste food, remember shit head?” Zoro snarled, and stormed off heading towards the library, then huffed and turned to the crow’s nest. 

Sanji’s eyes went wide. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? He walked down to the deck and sat on the foremast bench, placing the plate alongside him. Pulling out a cigarette and lighting up, he took a few deep drags before considering what just happened. Zoro had made him a sandwich. Zoro, the aggravating idiot of the ocean, the most massively irritating moron of the sea, had made him a sandwich. And not just any sandwich, but one that had required some cooking. It was a kind gesture, and the swordsman didn’t do kind gestures, not any directed toward the chef in any case. 

“Oi! Are you going to eat that shitty sandwich?” the irritating swordsman shouted from the crow’s nest. 

“I’m having a smoke, shitty asshole!” the chef shouted back. 

“Eat the damned sandwich, moron!” 

“Go back to your barbells and stop mother henning me or I’ll kick your ass!” Sanji said as he stubbed out the cigarette. 

“Che.” the swordsman said but closed the crow’s nest window. 

Sighing heavily, Sanji took a look at the shitty sandwich. The bread appeared to be toasted and buttered, a little dark to his taste, but not burned. The egg seemed to be well fried, maybe a little too much oil in the pan, but not ruined. And there were a couple strips of nicely cooked bacon. Simple, but well executed, for a swordsman. 

He took a bite. It wasn’t terrible. Could have used a touch more pepper, and a touch less butter on the toast, but it was adequate, and it didn’t appear that it would poison him. He finished it off and headed into the galley with his plate. 

The galley was clean. Really clean. Almost as clean as when Sanji had walked into it after Franky had first let them on board. The chef whistled low, this was….he didn’t quite know what this was. Miraculous? He checked in his pantry and cupboards, and everything appeared to be put away in its proper place. 

Stunned, he leaned back against the counter. Did the marimo do all this? Nope, he wasn’t going to think about it right now. He’d made his decision to ignore “The Situation” and if this was aftermath of that, then… then what? This was getting to be a bit more than his tired brain could take. Since it appeared that there was nothing left to do in the galley before the crew came back from the village, Sanji decided that he was going to go take a nap and he’d consider all of this further once his mind wasn’t so addled with hangover. 

++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Sanji woke to being tipped out of his bed onto the floor of the men’s bunkroom as the Sunny lurched over on its side. 

“EVERYONE TO STATIONS!” he heard Ussop shouting over the intercom, “THUNDER BLIZZARD APPROACHING!” 

The chef scrambled over to his locker and put on some boots and his winter coat. No point in taking a risk with snow on deck. He ran out the door straight into chaos. 

The Sunny was being tossed back and forth over tows and breakers. Wind was whipping around the deck and angry greenish gray clouds were roiling overhead. He could see Nami in front of the helm, climatact shooting little cloud balls into the storm front. Jinbe was manning the wheel, struggling to keep a heading straight in toward the waves, lest the ship overturn. 

Everyone else was at stations. Luffy and Brook were on the foremast working swiftly to furl and tie the sail. Ussop up in the crow’s nest, keeping an eye out and letting the crew know of any unexpected danger while they were preparing the ship. Robin and Chopper were rushing quickly over the deck, battening any doors, portholes, and hatches. He assumed Franky was down in the ship’s bowels, ready for any action that needed to be taken. He could see Zoro beginning to climb the main mast, and followed him up, icy wind pulling at his hair and jacket. 

Heavy snow was starting to fall in icing sheets. Lightning was flashing with thunder booming directly behind, signaling that they were close to the center of the storm. How did it come up so quickly? He and Zoro worked in tandem to get the sail furled and began to tie it down to the spar. At that moment, the Sunny was violently tipped by a wave and Sanji slipped on the icy spar. He heard Zoro shouting his name and Sanji reached up to try to grab one of the securing ropes, but the ship then tossed the other way. As the world dropped out beneath him, and he attempted to skywalk, his body was slammed from behind against something hard and then there was nothing but blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story kind of started out as a bit of a hair brained idea, but I'm really happy that it keeps evolving and growing. What do you think so far?


	4. The Hunt for Sanji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of the Sunny begin the search for Sanji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Grief, rage, depression

Three days had passed since the shit cook had been knocked overboard during the storm, and only one day since the storm itself had abated. 

None of the crew had gotten much sleep in the last few days. After spending two days trying to survive one of the worst storms they’d encountered on their journeys (Nami had said that winter hurricanes were extremely rare), and now rushing around doing their part to get the ship repaired in order to begin searching for Sanji, the crew was on the verge of exhaustion. The needed repairs were extensive but mostly cosmetic. Franky assured the crew that none of the damage would require a stay at an island with a dry dock. If they worked hard, the most major repairs, replacing the spanker sail and a few cracked winches, would be completed before the day was out, and the minor repairs could be completed as they were back-tracking to search for Sanji. 

While everyone was rushing about working to assist, there was still a shade of sorrow and anxiety washing over the crew. One of their precious nakama was missing, and they didn’t know where he could be. 

Zoro was walking past the open door of the infirmary on his way to help deliver some parts to Franky when he heard some quiet sobbing coming from inside the room. The swordsman peeked into the infirmary and found Chopper, his little body shaking quietly, with tiny sniffles and sobs escaping every so often. The blue-nosed reindeer was pulling out and counting the blood stores yet again, to make sure there would be enough spare blood on hand for the chef’s return. 

“Chopper,” Zoro said gently, as he dropped his bundle of parts and swooped in to gather up the little doctor into his arms. “Hey kiddo.” 

“Oh Zoro!” Chopper cried holding the swordsman tightly with great stuttering sobs shaking his whole body. The fur on his face was matted with tears. “What if I don’t have enough blood for Sanji? What if we get him back and he almost dies again like on Fishman Island, only this time he does die? I need my infirmary to have everything it needs to take care of him! We just got him back from Big Mom! What if we don’t find him? What if he’s really hurt and I’m not there to heal him? WHAT IF…” 

Zoro hugged the tender-hearted reindeer close and started whispering, “Shhhhhh. Shush. Shush. Hey now. What’s this? Crying over that idiot chef? Come on, we’re pirates, right? You know him, he’s too hard headed to stay hurt. And unless there are mermaids laying about where he is, he shouldn’t have any blood loss issues, right?” 

“Right!” the little doctor replied with a short hiccup and watery smile. 

“Good. Besides, once he’s back on board, he’s going to have the best doctor in the world.” 

“Shut up, asshole! That doesn’t make me feel better at all!” Chopper chirped and happily squirmed around in Zoro’s arms. The swordsman grinned back. 

“Now when you’re done in here, Franky could probably use your heavy point with some of the repairs. And stop worrying about shitty cooks who are dumb enough to let themselves get knocked overboard. He’ll be fine.” The swordsman gave Chopper one last squeeze and set him down. 

As he left the infirmary, Zoro started thinking about how they lost… no, misplaced the idiot eyebrows. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the whole scene. 

_The wind was whipping and lashing while the storm was throwing heavy snow and ice upon them. Through the falling snow, he could barely see Nami’s hair flung up around her head in an undulating halo as she was attempting to work her weather magic to calm the storm. Jinbe was next to her at the wheel doing his best to steady the Sunny amongst crashing waves that were reaching higher than the crow’s nest at some points. Snow and ice had begun accumulating on deck, and the swordsman could see his fellow crew having some difficulties with slipping and stumbling as they tried to scramble to their stations._

_Zoro had crawled up the main mast as quickly as he could, secured himself to the rigging, and had begun furling the main sail to tie it to the yard. His fingers were beginning to ache slightly in the biting cold, but not enough yet to hinder him from performing his duties. He had looked up as the Sunny lurched and saw the chef slip on the icy spar. The swordsman shouted Sanji’s name and had tried to scramble as fast as he could over to the other man. But it wasn’t fast enough. Zoro had watched in horror as Sanji had tried to grab for one of the securing lines hanging from the yardarm, fingers missing by less than an inch. Then the ship had lurched again, and the swordsman saw the spanker sail yard swing into Sanji’s back and throw the chef into the sea._

The green haired man pulled himself from his reverie and found that he was standing next to Franky near the main mast. Got the directions correct on the first try! He’ll get these soldier docking configurations memorized for sure! 

“Yo, Zoro-bro, you back with us?” the cyborg shipwright said, peering curiously at the swordsman. “I asked if you could drop those parts right here for now. You alright? You’ve been standing there for about a minute.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Franky, I’m fine,” Zoro responded and dropped the parts where Franky directed. “How long before we’re done?” 

“Should be less than an hour now. Just need to finish fastening the rigging to the spanker yard and we should be good to weigh anchor and set sail,” Franky said, putting a hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “We’ll find chef-bro in no time, don’t worry. He’s SUPER strong.” 

“Che,” replied Zoro, ducking away from the hand and began helping Robin fold up the torn spanker sail. “Who said I was worried about that shitty cook? The quicker we find him the quicker I can kick his ass for not securing himself to the rigging. Besides, the fucker made Chopper cry, he can get eaten by a sea king for all I care.” 

Zoro saw Robin and Franky share a quick knowing glance, but he just didn’t give a fuck at that point. They were going to find that idiot cook and bring him back to the crew, and then he was going pummel the shithead into the deck. There was no other acceptable option. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Zoro stormed up into the crow’s nest in a rage. “It’s been ten days, Ussop! TEN FUCKING DAYS! Why haven’t you seen any sign of him? How hard is it to spot those stupid eyebrows? Are you even trying to find him?” 

“Z-z-zoro?” the sniper stammered and dropped his telescope as the swordsman loomed over him, killing intent washing across the room in waves. 

“Have you been using your haki to sense him? Well, have you? Or are you useless? Do I need to ask Luffy to find us another sniper because the one we have can’t do his fucking job?” Zoro asked with a calm lethality peppering every word. What the fuck was the point of having the best eyes in the world if the long-nosed liar wasn’t going to try hard enough to find the shit cook? The green haired man glared balefully as Ussop edged slowly over to wall and cowered behind one of Zoro’s weight racks next to the intercom, turning it on. 

“N-n-nami, he’s up here again and I think that if someone doesn’t do something I might die soon. I mean, I’d take him on myself, but I’m starting to come down with a case of ‘I-need-to-get-out-of-this-room-before-my-legs-get-ripped-off’-itis,” Ussop rambled, and let out a little squeak as Zoro reached for him. 

“Zoro! Stop terrorizing Ussop and get down to the galley immediately!” Nami’s voice shouted over the intercom speaker. 

“No!” 

“Zoro, if you don’t get down to the galley, I’m doubling your debt!” 

“I don’t care, witch. Do your worst!” 

“Do you really want me to ask Luffy why his first mate is harassing the rest of the crew and keeping them from looking for His Chef!?” 

“FUCK!” Zoro turned and punched his fist through a window, glass shattering out onto the deck and slicing up his arm. He then let out a frustrated grunt and left the crow’s nest, dripping blood in his wake. 

“Nami, would you tell Franky he needs to fix another window?” the swordsman could hear the sniper telling the navigator. “The last time I told him, my ‘Coup-de-Vent-is-pointed-at-me’ disease gave me hives. And let Chopper know that Zoro probably needs stitches. It was his fist this time.” 

“Fuck this shit!” he heard Nami respond. “We can’t afford to have him keep damaging the ship like this. I’ll try to get him to see reason….again.” 

Zoro knew he shouldn’t be treating his nakama like this. Every time he interacted with one of his crew he’d come away with more anger and guilt, most of it self-directed. He knew that his nakama were doing all they could to find Sanji. And he knew they missed the chef as much, probably more, than he did. Not that he missed the idiot chef, he did not in any way. 

The swordsman walked sullenly into the galley and sat down to wait for the barrage of vitriol he knew was coming. Nami came in and sat down at the table across from him. 

“Zoro,” the navigator said gently, surprising him. “we all miss him.” 

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Zoro huffed, refusing to meet her eyes and crossing his arms in front of his chest like a petulant child. 

“Zoro, we are doing our best, every day. We want him back, too,” she said, with a hitch in her voice. “And you’re making it harder on all of us.” 

The swordsman looked up into Nami’s sad teary eyes, and he broke a little bit inside. His nakama were suffering, and he’d been making it worse. 

“Nami,” he said softly, his voice absolutely not sounding cracked or strained in any way. And his watery eyes were from allergies, he was certain of it. 

“You’re supposed to be the unshakeable one, Zoro. Next to Luffy, you are the one who stands strong when all the rest of us fall. If you crumble, who can we lean on? Who can Luffy lean on?” Nami said quietly, tears continuing to roll down her face. “We know that you and Sanji have a very close relationship.” 

Zoro scoffed loudly at that. 

“Hear me out, Zoro. You and Sanji understand each other better than anyone else on the crew. We can all see how you fight and hiss and growl at each other, that you challenge and irritate each other. It keeps you both sharp, levels you out, forces you to greater skill. You are each other’s anchor, whether you like it or not, and I know you feel untethered while he’s lost.” 

“Misplaced.” Zoro huffed quietly. 

“Zoro, I need you to listen. You have to stop attacking the crew. Find a better way to deal with this. I’m going to go back to my maps and keep charting a search pattern. Please take some time to think of something you can do to help the crew while we're working to find Sanji. We all need you to be with us, not against us. Luffy especially.” Nami stood up, briefly gripping Zoro’s shoulder on her way out of the galley. 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT! What was he supposed to do? Put an enemy in front of the swordsman, and he could fight and conquer and ruin anything in his path. But there was nothing whatsoever he could do to help his nakama in this search, and it was driving him mad. When the chef had left for Whole Cake Island, at least then they knew where he had gone, but now they knew nothing. And now the swordsman was letting his crew down. Letting His Captain down. 

“FUCK!” Zoro could feel all his rage and helplessness rising in him, and he wasn’t able to contain it. He stood up and gripped the stool, pulling it out of the floor and throwing it across the room, breaking one of the light fixtures on the wall. That fucking shit cook, why did he leave? Why didn’t he stay? Why was he so stupid that he didn’t secure himself to the rigging? Didn’t he know what this was doing to the crew? Didn’t that fucker know what this was doing to Zoro? The swordsman continued breaking stools, smashing the table, throwing debris, and demolished everything in the dining area. 

When there was nothing left to destroy in the dining area, he turned to the kitchen and stopped, heaving deep jagged breaths, tears streaking down his face. What had he done? Shit! FUCK! This was Sanji’s precious domain, and he was ruining it! He leaned against a wall and let his knees buckle until he hit the floor. Putting his head in his hands, the swordsman sat there for a long while, deep wracking sobs staggering his entire body. Blood from his hand mingled with his tears as they dropped into his lap. 

+++++++++++++++++++ 

“Good morning, Swordsman-san. Do you need any help with breakfast?” Robin said sweetly as she sat down upon one of the new dining stools. Franky had outdone himself, and the shipwright had forced Zoro to assist as much as possible considering the swordsman was the one who had caused the damage. The new dining area looked fantastic, now with seating for twelve at the dining table. The chef was going to be so excited when he returned. 

“I got it,” the swordsman said, turning the final batch of pancakes out onto the last serving platter. “If you want to get the drinks set out, we can call the crew in.” 

The swordsman moved all the pancake platters and the accompanying toppings to the dining table. 

“That apron suits you,” Robin commented with a tinkling giggle as she set out the juice, milk, coffee and other beverages. “It brings out the color of your blushes.” 

Zoro felt his cheeks heat up as he scowled at her. He pulled the pink “kiss the cook” apron off over his head and threw it on the counter violently before stalking to the galley door. 

“Shut up, evil woman.” He mumbled as he leaned out and shouted, “Breakfast!” 

The galley was soon filled by the clamor of all the crew hustling to defend their meal from their gluttonous captain. Squeals and shouts of “Yohoho! PANCAKES!” and “Mmmm! So good!” and “SUPER fluffy!” and “Pass the chocolate chips please!” could be heard interspersed among the clatter of plates and silverware throughout the meal, but he knew that his nakama were all putting on a good front for each other. 

After Zoro had demolished the dining area, he had been able to finally get his emotions back under control. It hadn’t been fair to his crew to behave like he was the only one suffering. The swordsman had decided that he was going to cook all the breakfasts in the meal rotation until they found that ridiculous jackass chef. It gave him some focus, to be able to at least feed his crewmates while they were working so hard. Hopefully they would find the chef soon, as he didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up. Cooking even one meal a day for his ravenous captain was exhausting. His respect for Sanji’s abilities in the kitchen had been increasing daily. 

It had been twenty-three days now, and Zoro could see that all of the crew were slowly losing their hope. He tried to keep spirits up by cooking some of the simple breakfast recipes from Sanji’s cookbooks and journals, but it wasn’t the cook’s food. As flavorful as the recipes were, everything had still tasted like ash these last couple weeks. It was getting harder and harder to find any motivation to train or do much of anything anymore. All he wanted was to sit and stare out at the sea in the hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of the stupid eyebrows and blonde hair. 

After the meal was finished, he left the galley to Nami and Jinbe to tidy up as it was their turn on cleanup rotation. He should head up to the crow’s nest and get in some training, but Zoro found himself in the aquarium bar staring at the fishes swimming by and thought about what Sanji had done for him the night before they'd lost the chef. 

Zoro had felt so good waking up that morning after the memorial ritual for Kuina. Something had been knocked back into place inside him, like when Chopper knocked one of his vertebrae into place to help his back heal. What the shit cook had done for him, by joining in his ritual for Kuina, had opened up a festering wound, cleaned it out, and healed it. The swordsman had been carrying this weight for Kuina around for over half his life, and that particular weight was now gone. 

_He had slowly come awake after sleeping better than he had slept in years. His arms had been wrapped around a heavy weight that pressed on top of him, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm and smelled faintly of cigarettes, barbequed meats, and freshly cut grass. When the weight started muttering things about “perfect” and “swordfish steaks”, Zoro had opened his eye to peer down on a curtain of blonde hair. Sanji. That’s right, the cook had insisted on falling asleep right there on the swordsman’s chest, and Zoro had been too exhausted to argue._

_When the girls had come in later with Chopper to ask about a shopping list, and for the little doctor to leave some medicine and a glass of water, Sanji’s dream-state mutterings had become a little more coherent. The sleeping prince of stupid had apparently been taking down Nami and Robin’s orders while arguing with something the idiot chef had called a “deliciously warm earthquake”. Zoro had to squeeze the moron eyebrows several times to get him to stop wiggling and pressing on the swordsman’s bladder._

_Finally, after the ladies left, the sleeping chef had settled back into deeper slumber, giving Zoro some more time to think about what happened the night before. He was feeling so much gratitude. He’d always thought of the chef as a shallow idiot playboy who was a little too interested in either women or cooking to really pay much attention to the rest of his nakama. Easy to bait, fun to fight, reliable in battle, decent cook, but not much else. When the chef had stepped out on the deck that night, and started answering Zoro’s forms, it skewed the swordsman’s perceptions completely sideways. Sanji had understood this loss and grief, understood it so completely that it mirrored the swordsman’s own. Zoro had never told anyone else on the crew about Kuina, and that night it had felt safe and right to tell Sanji. There were depths below those eyebrows that the chef didn’t let anyone see, but he’d shown glimpses of them to the swordsman, and weirdly, Zoro wanted to see more. Sanji had spent the entire night listening, just listening. Anytime the swordsman had tried to ask after the chef’s own experiences, the selfless bastard had simply turned the conversation back around to Zoro. How was Zoro to respond to that?_

_Upon seeing Sanji wake, Zoro had had to get the suddenly heaving idiot to the bucket, quickly. After making sure that the hungover love cook took Chopper’s medicine, ate some onigiri, and made it to the washroom, Zoro had wanted to help more. He felt he had to give something in return for the gift that Sanji had given the night before. Zoro was an honorable man who did not like owing anyone a debt, and a debt of gratitude was still a debt. Not that the shit cook would actually accept any help or thanks, the stubborn swirly browed bastard. The swordsman had to be stealthy about it. He quietly cleaned the kitchen and dining area from top to bottom, while the chef showered. And since dartboard was still showering, Zoro decided to make the chef the same kind of fried egg sandwich that he used to make for Johnny and Yosaku when they’d drunk too much._

Fuck, that hurt to think about. That stupid argument over that stupid shitty sandwich was the last time he’d said anything to the shit cook. He’d been so fucking eager for the damned shit cook’s approval of that simple sandwich he’d practically shoved it down Sanji’s throat. Shit. He was beginning to believe that he was probably never going to see that bastard again. First Kuina, and now Sanji. The swordsman slumped over slightly at the grief that punched through his chest at that thought and began to weep quietly into his hands. 

“Zoro,” the swordsman heard a voice say directly next to his ear and promptly jumped about three feet into the air. “Ahahahahahahahaha! Zoro jumped so high!” 

“LUFFY! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU SOME DAY!” Zoro shouted, as he tried to get his heartrate back under control and wiped the wetness from his face. 

“Ahahahaha! That was really funny, Zoro!” the black-haired captain laughed, rolling around on the floor in glee. “Zoro looked so surprised!” 

“Captain,” Zoro growled. “What are you up here for?” 

Luffy stopped laughing and sat next to Zoro on the aquarium bench with a small cheerful grin on his face. The smaller man hummed to himself quietly before speaking. “We’re going to get Sanji back, Zoro.” 

“I know, Luffy. But it’s taking a long time, longer than anyone thought it would, and every day the crew is starting to lose hope,” the swordsman had let a little bit of his own weariness and despair slip into his voice. 

Luffy smiled like all the sunshine in the world was right there in that room, “No, Zoro. We’re going to get him back….right now. Cabbage called and said they know where Sanji is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the favorites and reviews. There is still more to come. And I promise at the end of it all, there will be happiness, but it might be a more difficult road than our heroes have imagined.


	5. The Long Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji waits for his crew to pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: starvation, depression, apathy, implied torture

Sanji woke sputtering and disoriented and found himself lying in a bed of wet sand under an open sky filled with stars. As another wave washed over his face, he raised his head and turned over to begin heaving and coughing painfully, water spewing out of his mouth and nose. He was wracked by a sudden spike of pain in his back and rolled to his side in an attempt to catch his breath and let the pain fade. What the fuck had happened? How did he get here? The chef remembered bits and pieces of the heavy blizzard, trying to work with the moron marimo to furl the main sail, slipping, falling, getting slammed in the back, then nothing. 

The chef tried to sit up, wincing slightly as the pain of pin point daggers pierced into his back again. “Fuck,” he croaked out, his throat and voice raspy from the salty sea water that hadn’t quite cleared his lungs yet. He fell into another hacking and coughing fit, cutting shards of agony writhing over his back with each breath and heave. Several cracked ribs then, but he didn’t feel any numbness and the bones weren’t grinding. Simple fractures most likely. Even so, Chopper was going have an adorably angry screaming party of fits and kittens at Sanji yet again. 

“Hello,” he shouted hoarsely. “Chopper? Luffy? Shitty Marimo?” Where was everyone? Why wasn’t anyone answering? Was he alone here? Shit! 

Sanji tried to look around but wasn’t able to see much of anything in the dim starlight. He’d have to wait for morning to get a good gauge of where he’d ended up and what resources he had available. In the meantime, he needed to get further away from the water, as it seemed to be getting higher with the tide. 

After he hesitantly got up on his hands and knees, Sanji stopped briefly to try to breathe into the pain, then started crawling slowly toward a raised shadow that broke the horizon in the distance. He could feel a layer of snow between himself and the ground, and shivered, which caused more white-hot fire to lick up his back. He was cold and wet, alone and in pain and so very exhausted, but at least he had his winter coat on. As soggy as it was, it still kept him warmer than he would have been without it. When he felt he was a safe enough distance from the shoreline, he leaned over to lie on his side and fell back into a fitful sleep. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

When Sanji next opened his eyes, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, splashing amazing oranges and golds across the cloud dotted sky and empty sea. He was shivering in the chill morning, and a radiating ache kept expanding over his back with each breath. Fuck, this hurt, but it was a familiar pain. While he was still lying down, he took stock of his body. It felt like most of the issues were the cracked ribs in his back. There also seemed to be some bruising across his shoulders. His hands had a couple scrapes, but nothing more than he’d done to himself in the kitchen on occasion. 

The chef’s lungs and throat were definitely unhappy, probably due to the long unconscious soak in salt water. A smoke might not be a great idea, no matter how desperately he needed one, but he felt the pockets of his coat and shorts for his cigarettes anyway. The only pack he found was soggy and ruined. Shitty fuck fuck. Might as well get up and look around to see if he could find some food. 

After a great deal of cussing at his spasming back, he managed to get himself to his feet and peered in a rotating circle at his unexpected location. Fucking shit, if this didn’t look almost exactly like that shitty island he and Zeff had gotten trapped on half his lifetime ago. The island wasn’t very large, maybe a half mile long. Sanji could see the shore at the other end of the island from where he was standing. There was sand and rocks plus a small hill of more sand and rock. No greenery, no shrubs, no trees, no fish, no birds, no animals. No food, no drinkable water, no shade. Nothing but silence and sea and sky. When will this fucking universe ever be done laughing at him? 

Sanji walked over to an area of smaller rocks and, over the course of a couple hours, made a cairn of sorts upon which he could hang his tropical shirt as a signal flag. When the cairn was finally finished, and the day had begun warming up, Sanji took off both his coat and shirt. The chef hung the shirt on the top of the cairn so that it could billow in the slight breeze and laid his coat on the ground to dry. There was nothing to do now but wait for his nakama to come pick him up. 

It shouldn’t take too long for the Sunny to find him. The chef knew beyond a doubt that they’d be looking for him. His crew never left anyone behind…. Except Ussop that one time at Water 7, but he apologized and came back to the crew. And that other time when they were completely separated for two years. Sanji’s not sure that time counts, though, because Kuma had pushed them all everywhere. The chef shuddered violently at thoughts of Momoiro Island, and felt the cracked ribs sharply kick into his back again. 

Sanji sat down as gently as he could and pulled off his boots and socks, setting them next to him to dry as well. He wasn’t going to pull off his cargo shorts. As much as they also needed to dry, there was no way he was letting his crew see him ‘chef nue’*. Unless it was Nami-swan or Robin-chan, then they could look all they wanted. However, leaving the shorts on left him feeling considerably swampy and scratchy in delicate areas. 

Since the chef now had some time and nothing whatsoever to do, he started outlining the previous couple of day’s events in his mind to see if he could figure out what the hell was going on with crazy marimo and “The Situation”. 

Item One: The shit swordsman had been grieving for his deceased rival and Luffy had told Sanji to help him, which the chef had. When Sanji had first encountered the sight of the grieving marimo, he’d been completely shocked. The normally stoic man had been hurting deeply, enough so that it was showing in every move of those elegant forms. How did the chef never notice how deep the swordsman’s emotions ran? 

Seeing that rawness of grief, Sanji had felt as if he’d been punched violently in the chest. He had been completely shaken, because he recognized immediately the encompassing volume of that pain. He knew it in his own bones from his own losses. 

Knowing that Zoro was capable of feeling that much anguish had changed Sanji’s perception of the swordsman completely. It was pretty evident to anyone who knew the swordsman how physically strong that man was, it bordered on ridiculous. But the mental and emotional fortitude needed to carry that kind of grieving weight around with the complete nonchalance the swamp headed shit always exhibited was staggering. The chef had had to respond to it. He hadn’t been able to help himself. Something in him had needed the swordsman to know that Sanji had understood, that Zoro wasn’t alone, he didn’t need to carry the weight by himself anymore. 

Then to find out that depth of sadness and pain was felt for a rival. Did that mean if the chef ever died, that Zoro would feel the same for him? Fuuuuck. What did he even do with that? 

Moving on to Item two: He’d had a pretty decent night drinking with the shit swordsman, listening to his stories of Kuina, and then managed to drunkenly fall asleep on top of the marimo bastard. The talking and drinking in the galley was fairly companionable. He’d done his best to keep the conversation focused on the grass head, because that’s what the night was for, helping Zoro heal. And getting to know the swordsman better had been surprisingly nice. 

Then his drunken self had insisted that he was going to sleep on top of the swamp noggin. Ugh. So humiliating. And if memories of his dreams were any indicator, it was quite warm and comfortable. There may have even been some utterly embarrassing snuggling and cuddling. If Sanji were being honest with himself, that shitty bastard smelled really good, too. He sighed in resignation. It had happened, and it hadn’t been horrible. Apparently, the swamp for brains hadn’t objected either, and seemed to hold on and possibly cuddle in return. Was this a one-time thing? Should it be a one-time thing? Did he want it to only be a one-time thing? Shit. 

Enough of that, Item three: The asshat with swords was weirdly kind the next day. Zoro had been fairly quiet and gentle with him while he’d been suffering from that awful hangover. Verbally brusque as always but the shit swordsman’s actions were ones of care and thoughtfulness. He’d made sure Sanji drank enough water and got some food into him. The moss headed fucker had even cooked for him. Does he even know what that means to a chef? Fuck! Then that shithead had cleaned his galley. Cleaned his fucking galley! Who the fuck does that? And why? Was that flirtation? 

Sanji was pretty sure his mind just broke and splattered his brains all over everywhere. And now he was starting to feel some kind of heavy warm butterfly in his chest. Shit. They’re hunger pangs. Hunger! Pangs! And nothing else! He hadn’t eaten much yesterday, only the onigiri and the egg sandwich that Zoro had made for him. Fuck, there was that happy fluttering again. THEY! ARE! HUNGER! PANGS! 

He had to stop thinking about this shit. It was obviously making him insane, and he had more important things to be doing right now. Like trying to see if his ship was nearby. And dealing with the fact that he was starting to get into the first stages of starvation. 

Sanji closed his eyes and began to take deep measured breaths to center himself and tap into his Kenbunshoku Haki. He expanded his awareness out from his center to as far as it could reach. Nothing. There was nothing. No life at all near him save his own. He stayed in this state for as long as he was able to sustain it, unaware of the passage of time. There was no change, nothing. 

When he came back to himself, the sun was beginning to lower over the horizon. They hadn’t come. He felt a pang of disappointment, but he knew that storm had been unusually terrible. He’d be fine to wait a few more days. His nakama wouldn’t abandon him. The chef put his now dry socks and shoes back on, and donning his coat, sat in stillness to watch the purples and oranges of the sunset before he drifted down to sleep. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

_Sitting in one of the main deck lounge chairs during a cold snap was always cozy. Nami-swan would bring out the comfy blankets and everyone would snuggle up under them while Sanji passed out hot cocoa. The chef loved these times. Once he had passed out all the spiced hot cocoa, and wrapped himself up under his own blanket, he settled in to stare out at sea while listening to the lapping of the waves against the hull of the Sunny and his nakama talking animatedly around him._

_He heard footsteps and turned to see a shadow move across the lawn, but there was no one attached to it. Shit! They’d lost their shadows again. Sanji got up from the lawn chair and began to follow the shade as it wandered throughout the Sunny and down into the dungeon of Germa 66. The shadow crossed into one of the cells and attached itself to Zoro’s feet._

_“Hey shithead, what are you doing here?” whispered Sanji. He knew he had to be quiet or Kuma would try to kill them again._

_The swordsman stood in front of a small camp stove, with three spatulas hanging from his bright green apron and a black chef’s hat covering his moss green hair. Zoro turned toward Sanji to look him in the eye, and said, “You need to be very careful… very careful. Some of your people parts are still made out of glass.” And with that the moss headed man leaped and ran through the wall._

_Sanji pushed through the cell bars and ran into the lighthouse. He clamored up the steps as quietly as he could, trying each door in the hallway only to find them all locked. Ducking under one of the hall tables behind the tablecloth, he sat silently, barely daring to breathe as the lights went out._

Sanji woke once more under the glare of the afternoon sun. He was no longer sure how long he’d been on this island waiting for his crew to find him. Several days? Several weeks? He knew he was getting weaker due to the lack of food and water, this was an all too familiar feeling. This thirst, this ache. 

During the first couple days, he’d tried to sky walk and blue walk in various directions in the hopes of finding something, anything. People, food, fish, birds, other islands, but there was nothing. He’d spent hours each day trying to sense with his Haki, feeling his range growing smaller as his strength waned. But he hadn’t had the energy to keep trying for several days now. 

“Oi,” said the shit swordsman. 

“Hey,” Sanji replied, his voice dry and cracked. “Here to visit me again? Can’t stay away, can you? Are you coming soon? You know you can’t survive without my cooking, moss head.” From where he was laying, he could see a vague transparent outline of the marimo standing in front of the cairn and as covered in blood as he had been at Thriller Bark. Sanji’s torn tropical shirt was waving in the breeze looking like it was cutting and slicing the idiot swordsman in half. Death by shirt. This fucking persistent hallucination deserved it. 

“We’ll find you eventually, or at least your bones. Don’t worry your pretty little head, princess. You’ll get a decent pirate’s burial at sea,” the swamp for brains said, sounding like he was reading off a shopping list. Why was it always the idiot swordsman visiting him? Why couldn’t it have been one of his beautiful melorines? Zoro’s shade had become an almost constant companion recently, and it irritated the shit out of the chef. 

“Fucker. Once I can move my legs again, I’ll kick your ass.” 

A ships bell began clanging in the distance, and Sanji heard the sounds of a murmuring crowd nearby. He’d been living with these visions and visitations long enough to know they weren’t real. Nothing was real anymore. 

“Get the vice admiral!” someone shouted. “I think there’s someone here!” 

Sanji moved his eyes to see what the source of the shouting was. Fucking marines. Again! He hated this particular vision. These guys were always asses. 

The chef felt his head being turned as his hair was brushed out of his face. “Fuck! I think it’s Sanji Vinsmoke, of the Strawhat’s crew!” said a black-haired marine with really bad breath blowing directly into the chef’s face. This was a new face. At least his mind was giving him some variety now. 

“Get him in shackles immediately and break his legs!” other one shouted with authority nearby. “I don’t care how weak he is right now, those legs are lethal. Get him chained up then get him on board the ship. We’ll have to take him to the nearest base to collect the reward.” 

“Aye aye, vice admiral” said yet another voice. 

Then there was sharp agony in his legs followed by blissful blackness. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Awareness returned to Sanji in slow aching stages. At least he thought it was awareness. Everything was leaking together into an ever-present ache. He was being moved again, or perhaps things were moving around him. 

“Why do they keep questioning this guy? He hasn’t said a word since they picked him up from that tiny island,” a voice said near him. Or was it within him? 

“Not sure. They keep asking him the whereabouts of the Strawhat’s crew, but I don’t think he knows. It’s like he’s not even in there anymore, barely even responds. Besides, they’re running out of fingers to break,” said a second voice, or the same voice. 

“I’d heard that the Thousand Sunny went down in a winter hurricane, all hands lost.” 

No. No no no no no no no. Sanji could feel a different kind of ache break into his chest. They weren’t lost. They couldn’t be. No. NO! If only he could move! 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, someone said the Strawhat Armada was seen out sailing circles around the area and ringing their bells sixteen times.” 

“Well, shit. At least we got one of them.” 

It wasn’t true. The chef didn’t want to stay in a world where that was true. Sanji began to peel himself inward. Taking memories with him as he closed off everything else. He thought of Nami-swan, her beauty and her clever ways with money. Robin-chan and her sultry little laugh that hid more than it revealed. Chopper and Ussop laughing and goofing around on deck. Franky with his weird poses and “SUPER!”. Brook and Jinbe chatting quietly over tea and a game of chess. Luffy sitting on the prow of the Sunny in his captain’s spot, leading them all towards their dreams. And lastly, Zoro, his fucking bastard rival, whose arms held warmth and safety, who smelled of steel and spiced cocoa, who made him a shitty egg sandwich and cleaned his precious galley. He tucked all of these inside himself before shutting the doors to his soul. 

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

The chef did not notice the all hands alarm ringing throughout the base, nor did he comprehend the shouts of “Gomu Gomu no Elephant Gatling” and “Thunderbolt Tempo”, and he was not aware of the walls and ground trembling around him. There were voices nearby that he paid no attention nor gave any indication he had heard. 

“Shit! I think we found him. Let me get the bars.” 

There was the familiar sound of three swords slicing through metal, but he’d heard these before in the memories he’d replayed a thousand times in his head. None of it mattered. His nakama weren’t here, they were dead. This was all a fantasy his broken mind was making up to try to keep him sane or pull him further into insanity. No one was coming for him. 

“Wh-what did they do to him? Chopper, he’s completely naked and his legs are busted! Are those nails in his feet?” 

“It looks like they tried to starve him. Bastards! Zoro, look at his hands!” 

“Ussop, stop looking at him and go stand guard by the stairs. Chopper, you can look at him when we get back to the ship.” 

“Z-z-oro, if Luffy sees Sanji like this...” 

“He won’t, Ussop, I’ll make sure of that, now go. Chopper stand back. I’ve got to get these chains off him. Go get the long coat from that fucking marine back there to cover him up.” 

Sanji felt a brief whisper of something touch his wrists and opened his eyes. He saw his marimo’s angry face and shut his eyes again. Why did his mind keep conjuring these ghosts? Hadn’t he suffered enough? All he wanted was to fade away so he could be with his nakama again. 

“Here’s the coat.” 

“Thanks Chopper. Can you run back to Robin and see if the way is clear back to the ship?” 

“Sure, Zoro. Just be careful with him. We don’t know yet if he’s suffered any internal damage.” 

The chef felt extremely gentle arms move under his knees and shoulders and was carefully pulled and lifted into a familiar warmth. Why did these lies keep tormenting him? He let out an involuntary mew of pain. His heart was so battered and yet these phantoms kept tearing into him. This fickle shade of safety and comfort. It even smelled like the shitty swordsman. 

“Shh. Shh. I’ve got you, cook. We’re going to get you back to the ship and Chopper will take care of you.” 

He felt and heard that deliciously warm earthquake that would never be real again. How could his soul still have so many whole pieces left to rip apart? How could there still be so much pain? Why couldn’t he hold onto the numbness? His precious nakama were lost, the treasures of his heart, he had nothing more to lose. It was all agony inside and out. He sank closer into that jostling surrounding warmth, even though he knew it wasn’t real. 

“Fuck, Sanji, shit. Fuck, what have they done?” the chef thought he heard that comforting earthquake whisper into his hair. 

“Zoro, Robin says the way is clear.” 

“OK, Chopper. Here, take him and you and Ussop get everyone else back to the ship. I’m going to go find the captain. If you see Franky and Jinbe, send them to me and Luffy. We’re going to take this base apart brick by brick until all that’s left is sand.” 

“Hold on. Let me sedate him first, so he won’t try to fight me as I’m carrying him.” 

“He doesn’t look like he could fight a fucking wet tissue right now, but fine.” 

Sanji felt an insignificant pinch in his arm, then a different fuzzier warmth gathered him in. It smelled like wet fur and sweet cinnamon cider. He must be truly dying if they all felt so close. Soon it would be done, and he’d be with them again. He felt a sweet lethargy begin to overtake him and knew joy that everything was finally over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It will get better, I promise.
> 
> *French for “Chef in the nude”.


	6. Recovering Sanji Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji is returned to the Sunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of torture, fluff

It took two days and several sequential coup de burst for the Thousand Sunny to reach the coordinates Cavendish had given them. The island was an autumn island and appeared to have a bustling village near the docks and a small marine base further down the coast dug into a large cliff. 

“He’s in there, underground,” Ussop said with the utmost gravity, pointing toward the base. “But it’s very faint. I think we need to hurry.”

They wasted no time approaching the base, their jolly roger raised high. Zoro could see a fair number of marines shouting orders and scrambling over the gray ramparts, preparing for battle. Robin’s ruse of getting the Straw Hat Armada to hold a fake burial at sea had worked perfectly. The base was completely unprepared. He grinned eagerly. It had been several weeks since he’d had a good fight and he was ready to kick some ass.

What Zoro wasn’t ready for, was never ready for, was Luffy grabbing both Jinbe and himself, and gomu gomu no rocketing all three of them toward the base. “DAMN IT, LUFFY!” He knew he should be used to that shit by now, but it still caught him off-guard. Every. Single. Damned. Time.

As they landed, ‘landed’ being a special term the captain liked to use to describe the forcible impact of his crewmates into the outer wall of the base, Luffy pulled his straw hat deep over his forehead and shouted, “GIVE ME BACK MY CHEF!” while pulsing waves of Haoshoku Haki spread out toward the base. Most of the rank and file on the walls keeled over unconscious while the few marines left standing scampered about to make up the deficiency. 

The swordsman heard Nami shouting over the din of cannon fire and gunshots, “Zoro! Hang back and make sure Ussop and Chopper get to Sanji! The rest of us will distract the marines!” 

“My ‘never-enter-an-occupied-marine-base’-itosis is starting to act up again,” screeched the long-nosed sniper followed by a very loud crack and a subdued, “Yes, Nami!”

Zoro easily fended off a few of the marines while waiting for the sniper and the little doctor to reach him before slicing a hole in a nearby wall. 

“Ussop, which way do you feel him?” he grumbled.

“Left,” said Ussop. “No, your other left. Ugh! Every time! Just follow me and don’t get lost.”

“I don’t get lost,” the swordsman mumbled, as he corrected his path to follow the sniper as the three of them rushed through the hole into a conference room.

“You kind of do,” piped Chopper, giggling.

“Be quiet, pipsqueak,” Zoro responded with a gentle grin.

Moving as quickly as possible through the shaking structure while still maintaining cover, they could see that most of the marines were either unconscious or heading up toward the battle outside where cries of “CLUTCH!” and “SUPER!” could be heard. The three of them quickly dispatched anyone who got in their way, but the swordsman found the fight far from satisfying. He needed to severely damage someone or something.

After several dead-ends and wrong turns, the small team managed to make their way to a set of stairs which lead to a filthy brig. The guard was sprawled on the ground unconscious while several den den mushi played video of six holding cells, only one of them occupied.

Zoro rushed down to the cell, peering in to see what looked very like an emaciated corpse with dirty blond hair. Fuck no! No, the cook can’t be dead! Fuck fuck fuck!

“Shit! I think we found him. Let me get the bars,” the swordsman murmured as he slashed the cell door away.

Zoro’s chest began to squeeze out all his breath and he felt as though the ground below him had dropped away. The room got dim and everything began to take on a shade of red as he allowed his Kyutoryu to rise. The feel of a small hoof grasping the top of his hand was the only thing that brought the swordsman back to himself. He glanced down at Chopper who nodded at him with assurances before letting go and pointing at Sanji’s chest, which was rising and falling shallowly. The shitty ero-cook wasn’t dead yet and Zoro felt his knees go a little weak with relief.

Sanji was almost unrecognizable. Frighteningly gaunt and unmoving, the chef was unclothed and curled up on the grime-covered hard cement floor leaning limply against a wall where chains ran to Sanji’s all too slight wrists and ankles. Those normally long straight legs and graceful fingers were tangled and twisted with livid bruises and weeping sores, and the swordsman could see metal glinting on the bottom of the cook’s feet. 

“Wh-what did they do to him? Chopper, he’s completely naked and his legs are busted! Are those nails in his feet?” shrieked Ussop, the sniper’s body shaking with anger instead of its usual fear.

“It looks like they tried to starve him,” Chopper trotted a little closer, presumably to perform an assessment, and shouted in outrage, “Bastards! Zoro, look at his hands!” 

The swordsman’s own rage began to fuel his killing intent toward the fucking marines who dared to lay a hand on his nakama. But before anything could be done, they needed to get Sanji to safety. “Ussop, stop looking at him and go stand guard by the stairs. Chopper, you can look at him when we get back to the ship.” 

The sniper looked seriously at Zoro, and voiced what they’d all been thinking, “Zoro, if Luffy sees Sanji like this...” Even though their captain didn’t show it, they all knew that Luffy was still emotionally fragile after Ace’s death. Seeing one of his own nakama this close to death might break the young man. And considering what Zoro had heard from Nami about Luffy trying to starve himself to get Sanji to come back from Whole Cake Island… no, they absolutely could not let Luffy see this. 

“He won’t, Ussop, I’ll make sure of that, now go,” looking intently into Ussop’s eyes. The sniper nodded and headed toward the stairs. Zoro then turned to the little reindeer, “Chopper stand back. I’ve got to get these chains off him. Go get the long coat from that fucking marine back there to cover him up.”

Channeling some of his anger into Wado, he closed his eye and struck at the shackles on the chef’s wrists, slicing the metal in half while leaving the too thin limbs unscathed. He did the same for the leg shackles, then stared solemnly down at his broken rival, a burn in his chest beginning to take hold again. He could feel wetness trickling down his face.

“Here’s the coat,” Chopper said, dragging the item behind him. Zoro wiped his cheeks and scowled at the “justice” kanji embroidered down the back of the coat. “Justice” indeed. Fuck Justice. If there was any justice to be had today, the swordsman was going to make sure that Sanji got justice for all he suffered.

“Thanks Chopper,” he said, and took the coat from the little doctor and placed it gently over Sanji’s naked form. “Can you run back to Robin and see if the way is clear back to the ship?”

“Sure, Zoro,” Chopper nodded, then headed out of the cell. “Just be careful with him. We don’t know yet if he’s suffered any internal damage.” 

The swordsman nodded in reply, then with as much care as could be possible, he placed his arms under Sanji’s broken twisted legs and around his battered skeletal shoulders and lifted the chef, gathering him close. Something in Zoro’s chest screamed and shattered when Sanji let out a pitiful mew of pain. 

“Shh. Shh. I’ve got you, cook. We’re going to get you back to the ship and Chopper will take care of you,” Zoro said, trying as best he could to let Sanji know he was there, that they all were there, to take him home. He felt the chef sink into his arms just a bit and pulled his own grip on the man a little tighter while beginning to walk up the stairs. Other than that cry, there had been no response and no acerbic reply from the chef, and that was the most worrying thing of all. Fuck! Shit! What if the man wasn’t only broken on the outside? What had those shitty fuckers done to this monster of a man to break him like this? They would pay for every bruise, every break, every tiny bit of hurt and agony.

As the building shuddered around them, Zoro put his face down into Sanji’s hair, trying and failing to keep his breathing calm. 

“Fuck, Sanji, shit,” he said, with an unsteady breath. “Fuck, what have they done?” He saw a clear drop of something fall into the cook’s hair, but he couldn’t see a leak anywhere when he looked at the ceiling.

Chopper met them on the landing, touched the swordsman’s arm and said, “Zoro, Robin says the way is clear.” 

“OK, Chopper,” he said, feeling a rising urgency to rip this base from its foundations and toss it into the sea. “Here, take him and you and Ussop get everyone else back to the ship. I’m going to go find the captain. If you see Franky and Jinbe, send them to me and Luffy. We’re going to take this base apart brick by brick until all that’s left is sand.” 

“Hold on,” said the blue nosed doctor as he changed into his heavy point and riffled around in his backpack for a moment, pulling out a syringe and filling it with a clear liquid. “Let me sedate him first, so he won’t try to fight me as I’m carrying him.” 

The swordsman sneered, “He doesn’t look like he could fight a fucking wet tissue right now, but fine.” 

Chopper gently inserted the needle into Sanji’s arm and they both watched as the chef’s strained form relaxed a bit. Zoro handed his precious cargo over to the reindeer, who left in the direction of the ship. Why the fuck was his chest getting all tight again? Any why did his face keep feeling wet?

Once he knew that Chopper was clear of the area, the swordsman readied his swords and began to lay waste to the building. “LUFFY!” he shouted. “WE GOT HIM! LET’S TEAR THIS PLACE DOWN!”

The captain’s answering shout came a moment later, “ZORO! FRANKY! JINBE! RAZE EVERYTHING BUT THE KITCHEN!”

++++++++++++++++++++

An hour later Luffy, Zoro, Franky, and Jinbe boarded the ship and cast off, with Luffy chortling on about how much food they had stolen and how exciting it would be to have Sanji cooking again. The swordsman hadn’t been satisfied with all the devastation they had visited on the base. He still needed to break more, tear more, ruin more. It hadn’t been enough destruction to get rid of all the pent-up anger and frustration at seeing the cook in that state.

Nami had come out on deck and began swooning over all the valuables that Franky had recovered from the base, and Zoro headed for the infirmary. He needed to get away from the bustle of the cavorting crew and see for himself how Sanji was doing. He found Robin standing just outside the infirmary and asked, “How is he?”

“You should go in yourself, swordsman-san. You are apparently the only one that doctor-san will allow to enter the room, so I am guarding the door for him. Please let us know if either of them needs anything,” Robin said in her ever-mysterious way. He always hated that he could never quite figure out what she was thinking. “We can at least be grateful that he wasn’t flayed alive or eviscerated slowly.”

Zoro shuddered and opened the door to go inside. That woman was unbelievably creepy. 

“Keep Luffy out, no matter what you have to do,” Zoro said.

Sanji appeared to be resting quietly in the infirmary bed, with a myriad of tubes going into his arms, and the swordsman released a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Their cook was still alive and back aboard the Sunny. Without intending to, he found himself running a finger over one of the chef’s eyebrows before realizing it and pulling his hand away.

“Hey Chopper, how is he?” he asked quietly.

“Mmmm?” the reindeer looked up from the x-rays he’d been concentrating on and met Zoro’s eye. The swordsman could see tear track runnels tracing down the fur of the doctor’s face. “Oh, Zoro. He’s…. he’s not good. He’s completely malnourished and dehydrated. I’ve cleaned and disinfected the wounds as best I can and I’m giving him a blood transfusion now. I also have him hooked up to a nutrient drip, but he needs surgery on his finger, leg, and foot bones. We don’t have the facilities on the ship for that. We might have used the base’s surgical suites, but….”

“We destroyed them all. Yeah,” Zoro said gruffly, hanging his head in a bit of guilt.

“Can you go ask Luffy if he knows how close Law is to us? I think he’s going to be the best chance for Sanji’s recovery. I’ll stay here with him until you get back,” Chopper said.

“Sure,” the swordsman said, and left to go find his captain, a heavy weight settling on his chest. What if they couldn’t find Law, or he wasn’t nearby? What if Sanji’s legs never healed? Or his hands? Robin stopped him outside the infirmary with a raised eyebrow, derailing his train of thought. What was it with all the eyebrows on this ship making him crazy?

“Chopper wants to see if we can meet up with Law nearby,” he said, and she nodded, letting him pass by. “Just keep everyone out for now. They can visit him only when Chopper says it’s OK.”

Zoro found Luffy in the obvious place, the galley, where Franky and Jinbe were unloading the food haul into the pantry. The captain was watching the food eagerly, but without the abandon that he normally had. “Captain?”

“Hey, Zoro!” Luffy said, with a sad smile on his face. “We got Sanji back!”

“Yeah, Captain, we did. Chopper said he needs some time to recover before he can start cooking again, though. So, don’t bother him,” the first mate said, sitting down on the galley table next to Luffy.

“Sanji will be fine. He’s strong,” the young man said with a cheerful grin. “And Zoro’s cooking isn’t terrible. I’m just glad Sanji’s back.”

“Luffy, do you happen to know if the Heart Pirates are close by? Chopper thinks that the cook will heal faster if we have Law’s help.”

“Torao is close. They were helping look for Sanji!” said the black-haired man. Zoro wasn’t sure exactly what expression briefly ran across his captain’s face at the mention of the Heart Pirates captain, Trafalgar Law. Something sweetly secretive? The swordsman will need to be watching his captain a little more closely around the other captain from now on.

“Can Chopper have permission to call them?”

“Sure!” the Straw Hat captain said animatedly. “It would be great to see Torao again!”

Shaking his head in bemusement, the swordsman headed back to the infirmary and placed a hand on Chopper’s shoulder when he entered. “Luffy said Law is nearby. It might be best to have you call the Polar Tang. You’ll be able to tell Law what you need, and he can let you know if there’s anything you need to do to prepare.”

“Right! Yes! Stay here!” chirped Chopper, who left the infirmary swiftly.

Left alone in the infirmary with the unconscious chef, Zoro wasn’t sure exactly what to do. His skin was itching with the need to do something, to help in some way. He noticed that Sanji’s hair, which the chef usually took great pride in, was still caked with dirt and blood. The swordsman searched around the infirmary and found a basin, a couple towels, a washcloth, a comb and a small bottle of shampoo. He filled the basin with warm water and moved it over to one of the bedside tables along with the other items. He took in a deep breath and let it out, then sat down on the infirmary bed. Setting one towel in his lap, he lifted up Sanji’s head as carefully as he could and moved himself under it until the chef’s head was resting on his thigh. He slowly combed out what debris he could from Sanji’s hair, then removed the now dirty towel and replaced it with the clean one. Hooking his foot around the bedside table to pull the basin a little closer, he gently used the washcloth to suds and rinse away the rest of the grime. As he was looking at the cook’s sleeping face, Zoro’s chest started getting that fucking tightening again, and his throat felt like it was going to close.

“Oi. Shit cook,” he said in a rough whisper, slowly rubbing the clean towel through Sanji’s hair to dry it. “Stop slacking or I’ll feed your ass to the fishes.” Then he leaned back against the wall to meditate while waiting for Chopper to return.

+++++++++++++++

Zoro woke slowly to a poke on his shin and opened his eye. Chopper whispered, “Zoro, wake up. The Polar Tang is setting up the gangplanks. We need to get Sanji ready to go.”

“Are they here already? Fuck! That was fast,” the swordsman said, a wide yawn leaping from his mouth.

“It’s been four hours,” the little doctor said, changing into his strong point. “But you looked like you wanted a nap.”

“Why doesn’t Law just teleport him over?” Zoro asked, and carefully arranged Sanji’s head back on the pillow before getting off the bed. “Seems like he could do that.”

“He said with the extent of Sanji’s injuries he didn’t want to waste his energy on frivolous minutia,” the doctor said, moving around the bed to adjust the straps securing the cook. “So, we have to carry him over.”

“Shit! We have to get Luffy out of the way, he can’t see the cook like this,” Zoro said, heading for the door.

“Law said he’s got it covered. He’ll distract Luffy and we’ll sneak Sanji into the Polar Tang surgical suite. Help me get the gurney out the door, please,” Chopper said, taking one end and kicking the release for the collapsible undercarriage of the bed.

The swordsman quickly grabbed the other end of the gurney before it collapsed to the floor and started backing out of the infirmary. “Wait, WHAT? Why is Law distracting Luffy? Shouldn’t he be prepping for surgery?”

“Careful down the stairs,” Chopper said, directing them toward the main deck. “Don’t worry about Law, it’ll be fine. We’ll have Penguin or Bepo get him when we’ve got Sanji settled in and hooked up to the monitors. I’m a doctor, too, remember?”

“Best doctor,” Zoro replied.

“Shut the fuck up, you shithead!” the blue nosed reindeer chirped with cheerful indignation. “Saying things like that will never make me happy!”

The swordsman smirked to himself as he and his ship’s doctor brought Sanji over to the Polar Tang. Once in the surgical suite, they transferred Sanji from the gurney to the operating table then rang the intercom for someone to fetch Law. Several other Heart Pirates followed them into the room and began hooking Sanji up to various monitors and a fresh IV drip.

A few minutes later, the tall lanky ‘Surgeon of Death’ sauntered into the room and began getting ready. “Roronoa-ya, if you stay here, you’ll need to scrub in.”

Zoro looked to Chopper, who was getting his own surgical gear on. The reindeer shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”

“I’ll pass,” said the swordsman and headed back over to the Sunny to wait for news.

++++++++++++++++++++

Six hours passed before Chopper and Law returned to the Thousand Sunny, and the stars were in full shine in the night sky. Both doctors were wearing their weariness like a heavy cloak. Zoro watched as the tattooed captain of the Polar Tang crumpled into Luffy’s arms, both captains murmuring softly to each other before returning to the submarine together. What the…? How did the swordsman not know about that? He supposed it made a weird sort of sense after Dressrosa, but this better not affect the crew or their goals.

“Oi, Chopper,” he asked the little doctor who was making his way to the men’s bunkroom. “How’s the cook? Have you eaten?”

“Sorry, Zoro, I’m so tired. Sanji is fine, sleeping. We were able to get the nails out and the bones of the legs and feet have been repaired. Law needs to rest, so we’re going to do the hands tomorrow,” the blue nosed reindeer yawned and tottered a little before straightening. “I ate on the Polar Tang.”

“Oi!” said Zoro, scooping up the young doctor and heading into the bunkroom. “You’re going to fall asleep where you stand. I’ll make sure you get to bed.”

“Thanks, Zoro,” the sleepy reindeer said as Zoro placed Chopper in his bunk and pulled up his blankets, setting Woobie into the little doctor’s arms. “I’ve gotten permission for you to stay aboard the sub in the room with Sanji, if you want.”

“Che!” the swordsman scoffed. “Why would I want to stay with that shit cook?”

“Penguin can show you where he’s sleeping. He shouldn’t be alone if he wakes up. It’s either you or Ussop, since you’ve both seen him, and I think you’re the better choice. He doesn’t need pity right now.” Chopper yawned and drifted off to sleep.

What an idiotic thing to say. Pity the curly eyebrows? Who would ever pity that moron? Zoro shook his head and left the bunkroom.

It took several minutes for the swordsman to find the gangplank that lead to the sub. The Polar Tang kept moving it. Once in the sub, someone on Law’s crew led the swordsman to the room where Sanji was resting and left him there. Zoro moved to the bed and lifted the blankets off the cook’s legs to see how well they’d been repaired. There was still significant bruising mottling the skin, but the legs appeared long and straight again, and Sanji’s feet had been bandaged with care. The swordsman let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The idiot cook was still far too thin, but could feed himself once he had his hands back. Zoro’s chest skittered weirdly for a moment and he had to resist the urge to touch those legs for some reassurance that the stupid chef was indeed back with them. He didn’t want to hurt the cook by poking an injury, so the green haired man settled for putting the blankets back and petting Sanji’s hair instead. What the fuck was wrong with him today? Why did his hands keep insisting on touching the curly cue?

With dartbrow still out of commission, though, Zoro knew he’d have to get up tomorrow and fix breakfast for the crew. He climbed into the cot next to Sanji’s bed, turned on his side so that he was able to see the cook, and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I was going to begin this chapter from the point where Zoro et all returned to the ship after destroying the base, but it didn’t feel right and I wasn’t able to figure out what was missing. Then one of my reviewers mentioned wanting to read Zoro’s response to finding Sanji at the marine base, which I admit is a much better starting point for this chapter (thank you lovely reviewer!). However, it also meant that the chapter got considerably longer than I had originally expected, and I’ve needed to split it into two parts to get an update out this week. As such, the next chapter will also be from Zoro’s POV. Have no fear, though, Sanji will get his due soon.


	7. Recovering Sanji Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro continues to care for Sanji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Depression, apathy, grief

Zoro woke to a shrill shrieking voice. Chopper? Why was Chopper flipping out this time? The swordsman felt as though he was being weighted down by something warm and comfortable. Where exactly was he? Against his desire to fall back to sleep, he turned his head and opened his eye in the direction of the screaming. The last vestiges of sleep fell away as he remembered he had fallen asleep in the room with Sanji on the Polar Tang. 

Chopper was next to him in a full-on spastic fit, flailing around and spouting, “ZORO! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!? SANJI IS STILL INJURED! WHY DID YOU MOVE HIM!?” 

Move him? What was Chopper talking about? Zoro glanced over to the bed where the injured chef had been sleeping. Where the hell was Sanji? The swordsman then looked down to the weight on his chest. “Shit cook?” 

There was that idiot curlybrow, snuggled in and sound asleep, blond hair fanning out over the swordsman’s chest. It appeared as though someone had placed a blanket over the two of them. His heart did a little jitter at the sight. Why was Sanji on top of his chest? How the hell did he get there? And how the fuck was this so damned comfortable? Shit, he was starting to get that squeezing in his sternum again. What the fuck was that? 

“Oi! Chopper! I didn’t move him,” Zoro said putting his arms around the dumbass chef and shielding him from the livid doctor’s wrath. Chopper grabbed a nearby stack of x-rays and batted the swordsman over the head with them several times. “Oi! Oi! Oi! It wasn’t me!” 

“Then who did this, ZORO?” the blue nosed doctor asked angrily. “Sanji can’t walk yet. We only repaired the bones! His muscles and ligaments are still torn and bruised! THE BOTTOMS OF HIS FEET ARE STILL DAMAGED, AND HIS HANDS ARE STILL BROKEN!” 

“Strawhat-ya moved him,” said Law flatly as he walked into the room. 

“LUFFY?” both Zoro and Chopper said in tandem, the little reindeer shocked into sputtering indignant nonsense. 

“He said Roronoa-ya would help Blackleg-ya sleep better,” the tattooed man said dryly looking at Zoro. “Would you move him back to the bed?” 

The swordsman looked back down at his sleeping moron nakama and scowled. Why would Luffy think that anything he did would help Sanji? Why would Luffy think he’d even want to help the idiot ero-cook? Or that the curly brow would need help or accept it? Zoro moved Sanji’s arms around his neck, being extra careful with the cook’s broken hands, and rested the sleeping man’s head upon his shoulder. Then, he slowly sat up in the cot, gently pulling the man’s battered legs around his back. After adjusting the blankets to cover the cook better, Zoro placed one arm under Sanji’s hips and another around his back. He carefully stood up holding Sanji to himself like a dozing child, Chopper fluttering around them like a fluffy mother hen. 

“Trafalgar, how did Luffy get into the room to see the shit cook? Weren’t you supposed to keep him out? And why didn’t you stop Luffy from moving him?” the swordsman asked venomously, placing the chef gently back onto the hospital gurney and covering him with the blankets. He glanced at the face of the sleeping cook, resisting the urge to run a finger over one of those infernal eyebrows, only to find that Sanji’s blue eyes were open, but distant. 

“Your captain requested to see his crewmate, my patient. I allowed it,” Law said dismissively, grabbing one end of the gurney. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a procedure to perform at the behest of that same captain.” 

Zoro’s scowl grew deeper as he watched Law wheel Sanji out of the room. Chopper followed at the other end of the gurney, shouting loudly at the Heart Pirates captain about “unethical practices” and “patient safety”. The green haired man wanted to punch that fucking surgeon in the teeth. 

Thinking he might get some more sleep, Zoro sat back down on the cot, but Luffy came into the room and sat next to him. 

“Zoro.” 

“Luffy.” 

“Zoro was worried about me seeing Sanji.” 

“Yeah, sorry Luffy,” the swordsman said, leaning over and putting his head in his hands. He should have trusted his captain would be fine with Sanji’s state. 

“S’okay, Zoro,” Luffy breathed out, almost as a sigh, and Zoro knew he was forgiven that easily. Then his captain pulled the brim of his straw hat low. “Sanji is fine. Zoro will take care of him.” 

“Sure Luffy,” acceded the green haired man as it never did any good to question Luffy’s orders when they were given that seriously. “Why did you put the shit cook over here?” 

“Torao showed me Sanji, and Sanji was looking at Zoro. Sanji was upset so I picked him up and put him by Zoro. Then Sanji fell asleep,” said the straw hat captain with a wide grin on his face. Fuck. Simple as that. Always simple as that with Luffy. 

“Hey captain, let’s head back to the Sunny so I can make breakfast.” 

“Zoro! Can we have meat? MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!” said Luffy in a sing song fashion, composing an ode to all the wonders of meat as they headed back to their ship. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

It had been four days since Sanji had been returned from the Polar Tang. As much as Zoro hated that fucking surgeon, Law had done a good job with Sanji’s legs and hands. The chef was resting quietly in the infirmary, while the swordsman was sitting in a chair, back to the infirmary bed, training with some bicep and triceps curls. The argument he’d had with Chopper about bringing hand weights into the infirmary had been hilarious, the little doctor was so adorably animated when he was indignant. But one word from Luffy about Zoro being Sanji’s caretaker had silenced the reindeer into a sullen petulance. 

The swordsman was on rep 743 when he felt someone observing him. 744, 745, 746. The eyes didn’t leave him. 747, 748, 749, 750. Zoro turned around to see Sanji had turned his head with eyes open and was staring at the swordsman’s back. 

“Oi. Shit cook. You back with us?” Zoro asked. The brief expression of grief and longing passed across Sanji’s face so quickly the swordsman almost didn’t catch it before it had been shuttered back into an immutable blankness. “Oi! Dumbass curlybrow! Knock that shit off!” Why the fuck did his chest keep stuttering like this? This fucking dartboard needed to get back to normal soonest! 

There was a short rap at the door before Nami entered the room. 

“How are you both?” she asked quietly. The swordsman grunted in response. Nami had that ridiculous look of concern on her face like both Zoro and Sanji were breakable, and she needed to be careful lest they shatter. 

While Sanji’s body was healing, his eyes seemed mostly vacant, or they would follow Zoro with an odd intensity. They could get the chef to eat, but it was sometimes like feeding a sleepy toddler. There was no passion, no enjoyment, and it was just wrong that the shit cook wasn’t paying attention to food, of all things. Although, this morning, the moron had been making weird faces at the oatmeal Zoro had prepared for breakfast. 

The swordsman was getting a bit tired of the looks he was getting from the rest of the crew. Pitying looks for both himself and Sanji. Neither of them needed pity for anything. Zoro hated that look. The cook’s mind was just out and about somewhere, and it would be back eventually whenever it was finished with whatever idiotic thing it had to do. 

“Chopper said Sanji is good to finally come out on deck. He thinks it might be good for Sanji-kun to be around all of us,” Nami said sweetly, looking down at the dartbrow with that sorrow and regret shit again. Fucking witch! 

“Fine,” Zoro said gruffly. 

He and Chopper had dressed the shit cook in a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms earlier that morning. Since the bottoms of Sanji’s feet were still healing, they had been covered with a pair of cushiony socks. Chopper wouldn’t let the cook wear shoes yet. Zoro pulled a light blanket around Sanji’s shoulders, and then gently gathered up the cook and followed Nami down to the main deck. Placing Sanji carefully into a lawn chair next to Robin, who was intently reading one of her racy novels, Zoro tucked the blanket in around him. Nami sat down on Sanji’s other side. 

The goofy trio, Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy, were fishing in their usual animated fashion over one of the port side railings, giggling and excitedly praising every catch. Franky and Jinbe were up by the helm chatting amiably, and Brook was on the foremast bench playing a quiet tune on his guitar. It was a nice day, sunny with a cool breeze, perfect for napping. 

Zoro settled himself on the deck near Brook, and leaned back on the bench, placing his hands behind his head and shutting his eye. 

“Ah, Zoro-san,” said the skeleton in a low voice, while plucking an ephemeral melody that seemed to glide on the wind. “How are you this lovely afternoon?” 

“I’m fine, Brook. Why does everyone keep asking?” the swordsman asked through gritted teeth. 

“It’s good to have Sanji-san back, we’ve all missed him,” Brook murmured. “You most of all, I believe. It pulls on my heart strings… not that I have a heart. Yohohohoho!” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” sputtered Zoro, opening his eye to glare at the musician. 

“SANJI!” Nami cried out, and the entire crew looked up from what they’d been doing. The cook had stood up from the lounge chair and was turning about the deck. He still had that empty look on his face, but when he faced Zoro, he began moving toward the swordsman. 

“Oi! Shit cook! What the hell are you up to?” Zoro shouted, not moving from his spot on the deck. They all watched intently as Sanji walked over to Zoro and gently kicked the swordsman’s legs apart. The cook then sat on the deck between Zoro’s legs, curled into himself, and leaned over to rest his head on Zoro’s chest, snuggling in until he appeared comfortable. 

“What is this, fuckwit? What are you doing?” the green haired man asked as his chest did a little hiccup. He was really going to have to submit to one of Chopper’s shitty exams one of these days to figure out what the hell was wrong with his heart. 

Sanji didn’t move any further and made no reply, his face still held that blank distant stare. Robin was the first to break the silence by saying, “So cute!” After which all the other irritating crew members chimed in with various overly emotional tears and sentimental musings. If the shit cook wasn’t laying on him at the moment, the swordsman would have killed the lot of them. He settled for his most demonic glare as he placed his arms around the chef. Fucking morons, every single one, especially this idiot he was holding. 

Chopper joyfully trotted over and glanced at Sanji with a doctor’s eye. “Zoro, this is great! We can start physical therapy on Sanji sooner than I’d thought!” 

The swordsman eyed the little doctor warily, “What exactly does that entail, Chopper?” 

“Joint manipulations, stretches, massage, things to make sure that Sanji’s muscles recover to their fullest. Lay him down on the deck here on his back and we’ll start now. Then afterward, you can take him up to the washroom and get him a soak in the ofuro,” the blue nosed reindeer said excitedly. Zoro put his thumb on his temple and ran his fingers over his forehead with frustration. The swordsman was never going to be allowed to nap again. Fucking shit cook. 

They laid Sanji down in a shaded area of the deck and Chopper supervised as Zoro moved the chef through various hip and leg stretches. Leg up, leg over, butterfly, figure 4, foot over knee, side splits, front splits, runner’s quad, and more. Shitty contortionist pretzel, how was Zoro supposed to even know if any of these were working when the cook was so fucking flexible already? After about an hour, Chopper said cheerfully, “His movement seems very good, almost back to normal. When he’s in the ofuro, make sure to massage and stretch his hands and feet to break up any muscle adhesions. I’m worried about the scar tissue in his feet from the nails. He’s still too thin as well, can you feed him something in addition to dinner? Then, I think he can sleep in his own bunk tonight.” 

“I’ll take him now,” Zoro said, picking up Sanji and tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“ZORO!” Chopper barked. “BE CAREFUL WITH HIM!” 

“He’s a fucking monster, Chopper. He doesn’t need careful,” the swordsman replied and made his way up to the bath room. 

Zoro checked the ofuro temperature before sitting the chef upon the shower bench and quickly disrobing the cook down to his boxers. Then the swordsman removed his own clothes to the same extent and turned on the shower. Lathering up a washcloth with Sanji’s favorite bath gel, some earthy pine shit, Zoro began to slowly wash every available bit of uncovered skin. He saw that the bruising on the cook’s legs was finally starting to fade from an angry purple to a more mottled black and yellow, which was good. He gently massaged each leg as he washed, working out various knots and adhesions as the felt them. The swordsman then found a bottle of shampoo that had the same grassy scent Sanji usually did. Zoro poured some into his hands and was working it into Sanji’s hair when he noticed some weeks old almost faded bruising on the cook’s back. The swordsman ran his fingers over it gently, pressing to release any tight knotted muscles there. This must be where the spanker sail yard had hit the moron. 

When the green haired man determined that Sanji was “clean enough”, he rinsed off all the shampoo and soap. This was probably the first good shower the stupid eyebrows had had since they’d found him, and the prince of dumbass wasn’t even aware enough to appreciate it. Shit. 

The swordsman shut off the shower and moved Sanji slowly into the ofuro, taking care to get him situated in such a way that he wouldn’t sink below the water, then settled himself opposite the cook. Zoro began with the chef’s feet, giving each one the same methodical deep treatment he had Sanji’s legs, massaging and soothing any tightness or tense muscles. 

Zoro was ready to move on to the chef’s precious hands when he glanced up into Sanji’s face only a moment before he was tackled. Sanji had straddled the swordsman, wrapping his arms and legs around Zoro, and deep throaty sobs were ripping themselves from the chef. 

“What the fuck!” Zoro flailed for a moment before resting his hands on Sanji’s sides, waiting for whatever was going on to wind down. He felt his chest burning in response to Sanji’s cries and did his best to hold back his own sobs that were threatening to climb out. Zoro wrapped his arms around Sanji and held on for several minutes rubbing the cook’s back in circles and making small shushing noises until the cook began to quiet. Once Sanji’s breathing had evened out into occasional hiccups, Zoro pulled away enough to look at the cook’s face. It had once again returned to that infernal blankness, and the swordsman hissed out a shuddering breath. Taking Sanji’s face in his hands and using his thumbs to wipe the tears from the cook’s cheeks, he pulled the man in until their foreheads were touching. 

“Please don’t go again,” the swordsman pleaded, his voice cracking in anguish, looking in the cook’s eyes for any spark or hint the man was still in there. “Fuck, Sanji, why do you keep leaving?” But Sanji continued to stare into emptiness. 

After a while, Zoro sat Sanji back down in the ofuro and spent some time massaging and manipulating the chef’s fingers before pulling the dartbrow out of the tub and drying him off. Wrapping the towel around Sanji’s waist, the swordsman sat the chef back down on the shower bench and left to retrieve a bowl of water and his shaving kit. Zoro carefully lathered a thick foam over Sanji’s cheeks and ran the razor down them gently, then took scissors and trimmed the chef’s goatee into something presentable. 

“Well, shithead, if I’m doing it wrong, you need to chime in now, or you’re just going to have to look like more of a dork than usual,” the swordsman taunted as he wiped away the last vestiges of the shaving cream and combed Sanji’s hair to one side to cover one of the chef’s eyes. 

Zoro then hoisted the man back up into a fireman’s carry and climbed down, entering the library three times before finally finding the bunkroom. Fucking soldier docking system! 

The swordsman pulled out one of Sanji’s favorite outfits and began to dress the chef. Long black slacks which normally fit perfectly but hung a bit loosely now. A golden button up silk shirt with far too many fucking buttons, and a blue and gold brocade suit vest with a black back panel. Putting on the finishing touches of black dress shoes and socks and some gold chef’s hat cufflinks, Zoro stood back and took a look. 

“You’ll do for now, dartbrow,” he said, then hoisted the chef back up again and took him to the galley, where he plopped Sanji down in one of the new dining stools. 

“What do you think of your new dining room, curly brow?” Zoro asked while moving around into the kitchen and pulling out some bread and an egg. He placed a pan onto the stove and turned the burner on medium. After a couple minutes, he threw some butter into the pan, then cracked the egg into it. No shitty shells this time! Zoro let the egg fry for a little bit while putting the bread into the toaster. Then going back to the pan, he lightly salted and peppered the egg before swirling the yolk around a little bit and flipping the egg over with a spatula. As he was waiting for the toast and egg to finish, he glanced up to see the chef watching him with an inscrutable expression. The swordsman curled his eyebrow up in inquiry just as the toaster let out a soft “ding”. Pulling out the toast onto a plate, he buttered it before scoping the egg out of the pan onto the buttered toast and topping it with the other piece. 

Zoro put the plate in front of Sanji and said, “Eat,” before heading back into the kitchen to clean up. When he looked up from wiping the counter, the chef appeared to be scowling heavily at the egg sandwich, before picking it up and taking a bite. As soon as Sanji began to chew, though, his face displayed an expression of extreme sorrow, then once again shuttered into remoteness and he finished off the sandwich mechanically. The swordsman came around the table and cupped the back of the chef’s head while running a thumb over the visible eyebrow. 

“What is going on in that fucked up head of yours, idiot cook?” Zoro asked softly, before going back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up after himself. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Later that evening, just as the crew were finishing dinner, Nami approached Zoro with a deep concern painting her brandy brown eyes. 

“I want to try something with Sanji,” Nami said hesitantly. “I’ve asked Chopper, and he said it’s worth a try to break him out of whatever he’s going through, but I wanted your permission, too.” 

“Che!” Zoro responded. “Why do you need my permission? Do whatever the fuck you want.” 

Nami looked into Zoro’s eye with a confusion he had no way to interpret. 

“Fine,” she said and turned toward Sanji, who was sitting quietly with that fucking vacant stare that Zoro was beginning to loathe. Nami used her upper arms to push her ample assets a little forward, then bent over on full display toward the chef. 

“Would you make me a special dessert, Sanji-kun?” she asked turning the cook around to face her, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Zoro stood instantly and had to violently resist the urge to strike her, anger and an unrecognizable pain coiling in his gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Usopp looking at Nami like she had burned the Merry all over again. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU BITCH?” he shouted at her with increasing venom. “HOW THE HELL CAN YOU TREAT HIM LIKE THAT?” 

“IT DIDN’T FUCKING WORK ANYWAY,” Nami shouted back, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. “HE’S STILL LOST INSIDE HIS HEAD, ISN’T HE?” She gestured at Sanji’s unresponsive form. 

“THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING POINT! HE’S NOT SOME FUCKING TOY YOU CAN BANDY AROUND ON A STRING WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT! YOU PRANCE AND PREEN AROUND HIM AND HE FALLS FOR IT EVERY FUCKING TIME BECAUSE THAT’S WHO HE IS, AND YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT! IT MAKES ME SICK!” Zoro screamed and moved nose to nose with Nami. 

“You will lower your tone with me or I’ll increase your debt tenfold,” Nami threatened with low menace before her eyes grew wide in surprise. 

“I don’t fucking care, so long as you stop treating the shit cook like filth,” Zoro replied with even greater vitriol. “He’s. Not. Your. Plaything.” 

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Luffy cackled. “ZORO IS SO JEALOUS!” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, LUFFY, OR I’LL THROW YOU OVERBOARD TIED TO MY WEIGHTS!” the swordsman replied. 

Zoro didn’t see the foot that connected with his side and threw him into the galley wall, but he had never been happier to hear the shit cook’s disused voice shout, “That is not the way to treat a lady, asshat marimo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudo givers and reviewers who have been following thus far. I honestly wasn't sure how this story was going to be received and your feedback is encouraging me to keep writing!


	8. Dreaming of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji walks through the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: grief, angst, depression

_Sanji became aware of a slow sensation of rocking, a sway this way, a sway that, which was accompanied by a rhythmic grumble. The world smelled of cloves, ginger, and cinnamon bathed in a warm smooth chocolate. He knew this scent, and his heart dropped in anguish. His unbreakable rival was dead, and the afterlife was seeing fit to taunt him with the shit swordsman’s presence._

_He felt the grumble become disrupted and opened his eyes to see that he was riding in a palanquin decorated in beautiful moss colored silk pillows and draperies. He pushed aside a curtain and saw that he was travelling through a desert of dunes and sand. The sun was just beginning to set low on the horizon and the sky was ribboned in lavish violets and oranges. He was unable to see the palanquin bearers, but he knew they had to be there._

_“Are they here already? Fuck! That was fast,” said one of the bearers at the front._

_“It’s been four hours. But you looked like you wanted a nap,” said another at the back._

_“Why doesn’t Law just teleport him over? Seems like he could do that,” said the first, and Sanji felt a breeze run gentle fingers through his hair, although there didn’t appear to be a wind._

_“He said with the extent of Sanji’s injuries he didn’t want to waste his energy on frivolous minutia. So, we have to carry him over,” said the second. The cook’s sky-blue double-breasted chef’s jacket and slacks seemed to tug a little around the chest and hips briefly._

_“Shit! We have to get Luffy out of the way, he can’t see the cook like this,” said the first bearer. How the fuck did his palanquin bearers know Luffy? And why wouldn’t they want Luffy to see him in his chef’s jacket?_

_“Law said he’s got it covered. He’ll distract Luffy and we’ll sneak Sanji into the Polar Tang surgical suite. Help me get the gurney out the door, please.” The palanquin jumped and Sanji collapsed back into the cushions._

_“Oi! Shitheads! Don’t drop the fucking thing, clumsy imbeciles!” the chef shouted indignantly._

_“Wait, WHAT? Why is Law distracting Luffy? Shouldn’t he be prepping for surgery?” Who the fuck were these people? Why did they sound so familiar?_

_“Careful down the stairs,” said the second voice. “Don’t worry about Law, it’ll be fine. We’ll have Penguin or Bepo get him when we’ve got Sanji settled in and hooked up to the monitors. I’m a doctor, too, remember?”_

_Sanji pulled the curtains aside again and saw that they were indeed heading down a long stone staircase, candle sconces running down both sides of the hallway throwing careless flickers of light._

_“Best doctor,” said the first voice._

_“Shut the fuck up, you shithead! Saying things like that will never make me happy!” said the second, as the palanquin was set down and Sanji disembarked onto the top of a gigantic glass top nightstand. The table lamp overhead shown down brightly, and he could see he had two odd companions: the statue of a jade tiger which was pacing agitatedly, tail twitching every which way, and a newspaper wearing a pair of antlers with headlines that read “Thousand Sunny Sinks!”. After reading that, the cook’s heart shattered. Shit. Why did this shitty place keep reminding him that he’d lost everything precious to him?_

_The newspaper was putting on a white surgical gown, when a cigarette lighter wearing a spotted fur cap and a bright yellow surgical gown sauntered up onto the nightstand._

_“Roronoa-ya, if you stay here, you’ll need to scrub in,” said the lighter._

_The jade tiger looked at the newspaper, who shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”_

_“I’ll pass,” said the tiger, who then leaped off the end table and stalked its way out the giant doors at the back of the room. Sanji felt a strange twinge of disappointment that the tiger had left, like he had hoped the jade statue would have stayed with him._

_“Well, Tony-ya, shall we begin?” asked the lighter who turned to the chef with a menacing kind of joy._

_“Yes,” said the newspaper._

_“Room, Mis,” he heard the lighter say, and then there was crippling nauseating pain. Within and without. All the nerves in his legs, his only shields and weapons, were burning. Not like the burn of his diable jamble, but more that he was being taken apart piece by piece and reassembled in the most excruciating way possible. Sanji opened his eyes and saw that the lighter was pulling a shattered rod of glass out of the chef’s leg and was lighting it on fire. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK? The cook screamed and screamed until he was forced to draw breath._

_“Why isn’t he sedated?” the newspaper asked in a very distraught voice, its antlers shaking with frustration._

_“He’s in a malnourished and catatonic state. Sedating him could cause complications,” the lighter replied._

_“But he’s still going to feel everything!” the newspaper cried. “Law! This is unacceptable!”_

_“Mis,” the lighter said again, and the cook watched as another shard of broken glass was pulled from his leg and lit on fire._

_“YOU SHITTY FUCK! THIS HURTS!” Sanji shouted at the lighter, as more agony licked down the chef’s leg and he dry heaved into his lap. He would swear that shitass lighter had a look of delighted glee on its face, side, front, what-the-fuck-ever._

_“Law! He’s crying! He’s in pain!” screeched the newspaper._

_“Do you want me to repair his legs or not?” said the lighter while continuing to burn the glass just outside Sanji’s leg. The chef howled wordlessly, whimpering every time the fire was pulled away briefly._

_“Can I at least sedate him?” asked the newspaper._

_“You can give him a peripheral nerve block, but not full anesthesia. With his weakened state, we don’t want him completely under,” the lighter conceded._

_“Thank you,” said the newspaper who picked up a pencil and poked the chef in the leg with it. Sanji found himself lost in a grey numbness for a while, vaguely observing the lighter as it kept pulling glass out of his legs and feet, lighting it on fire, and putting it back in. At one point, the chef would swear that the lighter cut the newspaper into tiny bits and blew it about the room before returning it to its original paper state._

_After a while, since he was no longer in pain, Sanji grew bored and decided to rest his eyes for a while. A few moments or millennia later, he felt something brush over his hair and opened his eyes to look around. The moon could be seen in the sky above him through the dancing and swishing branches of several tall tropical trees. He was laying at the foot of one of the trees in a bed of moss and heather, which was decidedly more comfortable than the prison cell in which he had died._

_Looking around, he spied the large form of some kind of animal slumbering nearby. Moonlit patterns struck the greenish fur which covered the creature’s body. The monster was huge. It turned over to face Sanji, and he was able to get a better look at it. Well formed chest that tapered down and spilt into long double-jointed legs to twitching feet which ended in sharp claws. Strong muscular arms that ended in similar claws, which were flexing out and retracting as the green furred creature’s slumber seemed restless. Large spiral horns jutted out of the animal’s forehead, which creased in some dreaming worry. Its muzzle kept pulling back to reveal long sharp teeth capable of rending flesh easily, and the left eye appeared to have been lost in a fight with another beast, a single scar tracing through where the eye had once been. While the creature looked dangerous, it didn’t seem unapproachable. It almost seemed like it was sad or upset._

_An irritated badger came into view carrying a small brown chittering monkey on its back._

_“Here is your cook,” the badger said quietly to the monkey, waving its long daggerlike claws toward Sanji. “Just be careful with him, he’s still injured.”_

_“Thanks, Torao!” said the monkey, who placed a kiss on the badger’s head._

_“Just come back to bed when you’re done here,” the badger said and smiled affectionately up at the monkey, which was probably the creepiest thing Sanji had ever seen. The monkey then leaped off the badger’s back and came in close to Sanji’s face. The cook could see a small scar of some kind beneath the monkey’s left eye._

_“Hi Sanji,” the monkey said softly. “We are so glad we found you. Everyone has missed you, especially Zoro.” Zoro? Why was this ridiculous monkey talking about Zoro? Had they been missing the chef in the afterlife and were glad he’d finally died, too? And why the fuck would that shit swordsman miss him? Fuck! He hated thinking about this shit, it hurt his heart._

_Something must have shown on the cook’s face, because the monkey then said, “Zoro wouldn’t let us stop looking for you. And now that we’ve found you, Zoro is going to take care of you for as long as you need. See? He’s right there.”_

_The monkey pointed at the green furred creature. That’s the marimo? As Sanji really looked, he could see some similarities. The green of the fur matched Zoro’s mossy hair color. The slight scowl in sleep was definitely the idiot swordsman’s. He took in the whole of the beast and a thought occurred to him. Demon. Well, if that wasn’t the most fucked up thing here. The afterlife had turned Zoro into his true self. Fuck him sideways, the Demon of the East Blue was now an actual demon._

_“Here, let me take you to him,” said the monkey, and gently picked Sanji up before he could protest and carried him over to lay him down next to the demon. Shit, that little bastard was strong! The demon, Zoro, rolled slightly in his sleep, and put his arms around Sanji to pull the chef close, before settling back into slumber. The chef was surrounded by warmth and the scents of steel and spiced cocoa and home and found himself drifting off into a gray nothingness for a time._

_When next Sanji became aware, he felt warm. So marvelously warm and comfortable. The air was saturated with the scent of cinnamon, cloves, ginger and chocolate, and he just wanted to bathe in it. He opened his eyes to see that he was lying down on what appeared to be a patisserie counter full of delectable looking pastries and other treats, and there was a profiterole next to him which seemed to be jumping around in distress._

_“ZORO! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!? SANJI IS STILL INJURED! WHY DID YOU MOVE HIM!?” cried the cream puff. Fuck if it wasn’t like Big Mom’s shitty tea party all over again, and why did the adorable profiterole think the cook was injured? He felt fine, better than fine. But where was the shit swordsman, Sanji is sure he can smell him nearby._

_“Shit cook?” Sanji felt the words rumble through him, and realized his delicious earthquake was here. Finally, something good in this shithole of an afterlife! “Oi! Chopper! I didn’t move him! Oi! Oi! Oi! It wasn’t me!”_

_“Then who did this, ZORO? Sanji can’t walk yet. We only repaired the bones! His muscles and ligaments are still torn and bruised! THE BOTTOMS OF HIS FEET ARE STILL DAMAGED, AND HIS HANDS ARE STILL BROKEN!” flailed the cream puff. Fucking shit! Sanji was grateful for once that he was dead, so he never ever had to go back to Whole Cake Island. Ever. The talking food was just disturbing beyond belief._

_“Strawhat-ya moved him,” said a tall thin baguette that had climbed up onto the counter top._

_“LUFFY?” both his earthquake and the agitated cream puff said at the same time._

_“He said Roronoa-ya would help Blackleg-ya sleep better. Would you move him back to the bed?” the baguette said dryly._

_Sanji felt a strong gentle sensation moving his arms and legs around something, then a warm pressure around his back and hips pulled him close. He was somehow lifted and was moving across the counter._

_“Trafalgar, how did Luffy get into the room to see the shit cook? Weren’t you supposed to keep him out? And why didn’t you stop Luffy from moving him?” The amazingly comfortable earthquake moved the chef into a large muffin basket, then the glorious warmth left him. Fuck! No! Shit, he needed it back!_

_“Your captain requested to see his crewmate, my patient. I allowed it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a procedure to perform at the behest of that same captain,” said the baguette, who had picked up the muffin basket and was moving it off the patisserie counter with the excitable cream puff following behind spouting random nonsense at the bread._

_The chef tried to turn in the basket to look behind him but found that he had been secured tightly. When the basket moved into the back kitchen near the ovens, the baguette pulled out a bread knife and said, “Room, mis” and the pain shattered Sanji all over again this time in his hands._

++++++++++++++++++++  

Time in the afterlife was a strange thing. It was passing, or Sanji was passing through it, or it was standing still. The chef was never quite sure. Grey fog would clear into incredible weirdness, which would then turn back into the fog again. At one point, the chef was certain he witnessed a sort of animated discussion between a surly green kettlebell, an excitable stethoscope and a happy red rubber band.   

At the moment, he was sitting up in the infirmary bed of the Sunny and was staring down at a bowl of oatmeal that the shit swordsman had handed him. Wait! He was on the Sunny, his heart soared with joy! And he had seen Zoro, actual Zoro, not some demon thing or talking objects. Fuck! At least his dead were becoming recognizable.  

Sanji took a small bite of the oatmeal. It was good. Surprisingly good. Basic steel cut oats, combined with milk instead of water, and cooked at a low temperature for a few hours until the oats were soft and most of the moisture had been absorbed. Some cream had been added, along with a little bit of honey for sweetness. It had also been spiced with a hint of cinnamon and was that…. nutmeg? Hold on a fucking moment. This was his own recipe! That shitty asshole! That fucking ghost swordsman had been rifling through Sanji’s own cookbooks and cooking the chef’s own recipes! Sanji was going to kick that shit marimo’s ass so hard the swordsman would be tasting his own spectral colon until the end of eternity and back.  

The chef fumed but still ate the rest of the oatmeal, because for some reason he did feel hungry in the afterlife, and there was no point in wasting food. After finishing, he felt exhausted. He decided to rest for a bit and kick the shit swamp brain’s ass once he was feeling more refreshed.  

++++++++++++++++++++  

Sanji woke to a clink clank sound and a voice softly counting. The chef opened his eyes to peer at the back of the shit marimo’s ghost, who was lifting weights in the infirmary. The swordsman stopped for a moment and turned around to look at Sanji.  

“Oi. Shit cook. You back with us?” Zoro asked with this hopefully look in his eye. Fuck. It’s like the shit swordsman doesn’t realize that the two of them dead. Sanji felt a pain in his chest at the sight and he tightened his throat to keep a sob from escaping. “Oi! Dumbass curlybrow! Knock that shit off!”   

There was a short knock at the door, and a bright orange human-sized cockroach entered the room. FUCKITY FUCK ALL OF THIS RIGHT NOW!  

“How are you both?” the cockroach’s mandibles clicked in a lovely woman’s voice. Nami’s voice? Not his beautiful Nami-swan! The chef began to weep softly. Zoro simply grunted in response to the question as if Nami being a fucking person sized cockroach was normal.  

“Chopper said Sanji is good to finally come out on deck. He thinks it might be good for Sanji-kun to be around all of us,” said Nami-roach, her antennae swirling around. The chef needed to get out of here, to get away from her, right the fuck now, until he could find a way to give her back her extraordinary body.  

“Fine,” said Zoro, and leaned in to gather in the chef and lift him up. Sanji was comforted by the spiced cocoa and steel smell, a little more pungent than usual since the swordsman had just been working out. Zoro took the chef out onto the deck of the Sunny, where things were considerably worse. Everywhere out on deck there were insects and wriggly creatures.   

As the shithead carefully placed the chef into one of the lawn chairs, Sanji took notice of all the things out there. Three colorful beetles were sitting on the port side railing giggling and flailing their arms and legs and antennae. A large grayish blue spider, whose mandibles were like sharp teeth, was up near the helm talking to another large spider covered in a considerable amount of teal blue hair. Sanji watched as the swordsman walked over to the foremast bench and sat down with his hands behind his head next to a spider skeleton that was playing a guitar. Fuck this whole place, he needed to get out of here. Now!  

“Hello, Sanji-kun. We’re so glad that you’re feeling well enough to come out on deck with the crew,” said the cockroach with Nami’s sweet voice. Were it not for the creepy spindly legs and swiveling antennae, he might have actually swooned at her concern.  

“Yes, Sanji-san. It is very good that you didn’t starve to death with those marines,” said Robin’s dulcet voice. Sanji turned to look in her direction, only to see a large black centipede laying on the lounge chair next to him. The chef’s skin crawled so much that it almost leaped off his body. FUCK. THIS. SHITTY. AFTERLIFE!   

The chef stood up, and heard Nami-roach cry, “SANJI!” and the shitty swamphead shouted, “Oi! Shit cook! What the hell are you up to?” but he didn’t care. He had to make his way to the only human on this deck that could possibly protect him from these creatures. Once he stood by the swampy swordsman, instead of kicking the asshat marimo in the face, like he’d intended, he kicked the shithead’s feet away and sat down between them. All of Sanji’s words were carried off by the fucking fleshless spider’s terrifying music, so he was unable to do much more than lean over into that warm safety and cower. Yes, he’d admit it. Cower. Fucking bugs!  

“What is this, fuckwit? What are you doing?” he heard the swordsman earthquake ask as the chef closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into the idiot marimo. As a pair of strong arms came around him, Sanji blocked out the voices of his crew, who were gleefully shouting romantic encouragements. How the fuck was any of this romantic? Spiders, creepy crawlies, and other wriggly insects were as far from romantic as anything could get. The chef wrapped all the gray fog around him like a cloak until nothing else was left except the warmth that surrounded him.  

++++++++++++++++++++  

_Sanji came back to awareness to the feel of wonderful gentle hands massaging all the knots and aches from his legs. He could hear water dripping nearby, like a soft rain, and smell the scent of rosemary and cut grass. One of the hands slid over the area on the chef’s back where his ribs had been broken, soothing away any residual pain. He wished he could stay here like this, but he felt that soft shower run over his slowly relaxing form, and then he was lifted up and placed into a heated bath of something marvelously luxurious._

_Those same careful hands moved over his feet, pushing all the aches and stiffness away. He looked up languidly to see the most horrific thing._

_There was Zoro’s body, lying on a slab in front of the wall of cloning tanks in the Germa 66 labs. Of all the things that could have happened to his crewmates, this was the worst thing he could imagine for any of them. The chef knew what his family would do with the swordsman’s body. They would take it apart, analyze it, and learn how to make more of this fierce warrior that they could control. FUCK!_

_Breaking out of his own cloning tube, Sanji tried to move quickly toward the steel slab, anxious to get to the swordsman’s body to get it out of here. It felt like running through syrup, the air gripped his body and he had to struggle with everything he was to get a single step in._

_When he finally reached the swordsman’s body, he couldn’t contain his grief. He grabbed Zoro’s cold form and held it close to him, his sobs pouring out all of his soul and sorrow that he’d been unable to keep his crew alive. Especially his precious and treasured rival. The chef felt warm arms encircle him, and Sanji could hear whispers of Zoro’s voice shushing him while gentle hands made circular patterns into his back. The ghost was a minimal comfort, but not enough to assuage the burdens of his heart._

_As Sanji began to finally calm into a drained exhaustion, he felt hands grab the side of his face and thumbs wiping his cheeks. A forehead touched his own and he heard the anguished voice of Zoro plead, “Please don’t go again. Fuck, Sanji, why do you keep leaving?” The chef’s heart cried out once more before he threw himself back into the less painful oblivion._

++++++++++++++++++++++++  

The chef was dressed in his favorite outfit. He loved that blue and gold brocade vest. He’d had it specially tailored and knew he looked downright sexy in it. Not that he had any need to be sexy anymore, Sanji mused wearily to himself as he sat in his galley aboard the Sunny. At least he thought it was his galley. His had had seating for eight around the single table. This one had two narrower six-top tables parallel to each other and perpendicular to the kitchen counter, seating a total of twelve.  

“What do you think of your new dining room, curly brow?” the bastard barbarian asked Sanji, while the shithead walked around the counter into the chef’s kitchen and began pulling out ingredients for something the cook couldn’t quite see from his seat. Fucker! What gave that idiot marimo the right to cook in His Kitchen? If the swamp for brains wasn’t already dead, Sanji would kill him.  

The idiot swordsman threw an egg into a heated pan, Sanji could tell from the sound of the egg cracking and put some bread into the toaster. The chef began to get a very uneasy feeling in his guts, like he was missing something glaringly obvious.  

The toaster chimed and Zoro pulled the toast out, put the egg on it, and placed a plate in front of the chef with a stern, “Eat.”   

That fucking shitty egg sandwich. Exactly like the day after he and Zoro had made that connection over Kuina’s ritual and gotten drunk afterward. The chef’s stomach did a little butterfly jitter, and he was beginning to recognize that feeling, especially considering the importance that his mind and the afterlife had been giving to the fucking moron marimo. Sanji took a bite of the sandwich as his heart felt keenly the loss of what that relationship might have become had they both lived. With all this heartbreak, he must be in hell. The cook ate the rest of the sandwich even though it tasted like ash in his mouth. Fuck!  

Sanji saw Zoro’s face come into view and couldn’t say exactly what expression it was that the swordsman wore. The chef had never seen it before. Fear. Anger. Hurt. Longing. Some combination of all of them. The normally stoic and unreadable shithead was wide open, all barriers down, and it was fucking terrifying and heart shattering to see. He felt the swordsman cup the back of his own head and rub a thumb over his eyebrow while saying, “What is going on in that fucked up head of yours, idiot cook?”  

Yet again, Sanji pulled the gray back around himself because seeing that look on the swordsman’s face broke something within him.  

++++++++++++++++++++  

Dinner was always a lively time in the galley of the Thousand Sunny. Everyone was clamoring to get food in their mouths before their voracious captain could remove it from their plates. There was lots of laughter, shouts, stabbing of rubber hands, and all in all it was probably one of Sanji’s favorite times of day.  

Tonight was no different, and the chef kept getting that feeling once again that he was missing something monumentally important. It was all so…. normal. There were no weird beasts, no talking newspapers, no morose baguettes, no creepy human sized insects. Just all of his nakama, sitting around the tables, enjoying their meal.  

The swordsman was sitting next to him, as surly as ever, when beautiful Nami-swan approached.  

“I want to try something with Sanji,” Nami-swan said hesitantly. “I’ve asked Chopper, and he said it’s worth a try to break him out of whatever he’s going through, but I wanted your permission, too.” Why would Nami-swan ever need to ask the shit marimo for permission to do anything ever? She was an angel and could do whatever she wished.  

“Che!” Zoro responded. “Why do you need my permission? Do whatever the fuck you want.”   

That fuck head! No one should talk to Nami-swan like that! Something wasn’t right here. Sanji began to push out a little with his haki to see if he could figure out what the hell was going on. It hurt a little bit, he hadn’t used it since he’d been on that shitty island, but he needed to know so he shut off all his senses except his inner view through his haki.  

HOLY FUCK! ZORO WAS ALIVE! So was everyone else in the room! Shit fuck! HE WAS ALIVE! HE’D BEEN RESCUED! Sanji’s heart burst into a million shards of happiness he almost couldn’t contain himself. He was alive, and back with his precious nakama!   

Speaking of his nakama, through the haki he could feel that something had happened and Zoro had gone from bored irritation to extremely angry in the space of an instant, and Nami-swan was colored in shame and guilt. Sanji could see the swordsman’s anger was threaded with pain and betrayal, and for some reason, so was Usopp’s. The chef pulled out of his haki to see what was going on.  

 “…..AND PREEN AROUND HIM AND HE FALLS FOR IT EVERY FUCKING TIME BECAUSE THAT’S WHO HE IS, AND YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT! IT MAKES ME SICK!” Zoro was apparently in mid rant about something, screaming and standing nose to nose with Nami. Who the fuck does that shithead think he is to threaten Nami-swan like that, or any woman for that matter!? The chef was going to kick that fuckhead’s ass through the wall!  

“You will lower your tone with me or I’ll increase your debt tenfold,” Nami threatened the asshat moss head with low menace. Sanji slowly stood up behind the shitty swordsman, legs aching and slightly unstable, and caught Nami’s eye. Her eyes widened in complete surprise.   

“I don’t fucking care, so long as you stop treating the shit cook like filth,” the fucking shithead replied to Nami with even greater vitriol. “He’s. Not. Your. Plaything.” Wait, what? Was the idiot swordsman trying to defend Sanji against Nami? That was ridiculous! Since when did he ever need defending against the glorious Nami-swan? And no, his stomach did not just have a hoard of giddy butterflies move in at that thought, absolutely not! The chef raised his leg up and pivoted his hips. Fuck his legs were sore, but this shithead needed a swift kick.  

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Luffy cackled. “ZORO IS SO JEALOUS!”   

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, LUFFY, OR I’LL THROW YOU OVERBOARD TIED TO MY WEIGHTS!” the shitty swordsman shouted just as Sanji snapped a solid roundhouse into the swamp bastard’s side, throwing Zoro into the galley wall.   

“That is not the way to treat a lady, asshat marimo!” Sanji shouted, his voice hoarse with disuse. As he put his leg back down, Sanji tried to stand as stable as his aching limbs would allow. Fuck, he felt weak and sore and it was all he could do to keep standing up, although the look of unadulterated glee on Zoro’s face almost had his knees buckling for a vastly different reason. Which he was NOT thinking about. He was alive, and back on the Sunny, and wanted to simply enjoy being amongst his nakama again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this chapter, as might be evidenced that it is the longest chapter yet. Trying to determine what hallucinatory things would emulate the various crew members had me giggling to myself quite often. Especially turning Law into a baguette, considering his distaste for bread. I hope you enjoyed it as well. Up next, Sanji gets to finally reacquaint himself with the crew. As promised, Sanji gets 2 chapters in a row as well.


	9. Sanji gets back to work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are becoming both more and less clear for Sanji as he gets back to work in his galley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: PTSD, angst

_The rows of carbonatite dikes and sills rose and fell, as Sanji walked through them toward the center. The center of what, he was not certain, but he knew he must get there. There was no life in this place. The cook pushed out his haki and sensed nothing and no one, just endless sharp hills of azure and ridged valleys of beige sand and shale._

_Sanji’s lips were dry and cracked. The sand and sun scoured every bit of exposed skin. He attempted to wrap the sheer linen around his face again, but the wind tore it from his hands and carried it off toward the center of the structure. He needed to keep moving, no matter what happened, he could not turn back now. Death was chasing him onward._

_Over the next rise, Sanji could see the center. It was so close! The four pillars of the temple were within reach! He ran, tripping upon shale juts and slicing up the flesh of his hands and knees, but finally he had made it! The limestone pillars stood yards apart from each other, each pillar situated at a compass point, rising upward too high to see, the sky their only ceiling._

_In the center of the pillars was a plinth upon which rested a book. The book was bound in ancient cracked leather that had once been stained a vivid aquamarine. As Sanji moved his injured hand over the book to open it he saw a couple drops of blood splatter onto the cover. A low chanting tone began to emanate from the pillars, becoming louder as he turned back the first page._

_The chef read the title page aloud, “The Wasteland of All-Blue”._

_As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt himself being lifted straight into the air. Looking below, he began to get an image of the landscape he’d been traversing. It was an eye. A giant vivid blue miles wide eye set into the face of the dry lifeless desert. The iris of the eye swirled with every shade of blue imaginable._

_“Witness the Barren All-Blue,” said a sonorously deep voice, which reverberated throughout Sanji’s body. The giant desert eye blinked once, and Sanji began to fall to the earth._

Sanji woke with a lurch, not hearing the scream that he knew had left his mouth. He could feel another one bubbling up within him and leaped out of his bed into the darkness of the men’s bunkhouse. He scrambled out the door and raced for the railing just as his stomach began heaving itself into the sea. When finished, he turned and collapsed onto the deck, back to the railing. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and wiped some of the cold sweat from his brow as it stung his eyes.

Shit! He needed a fucking cigarette. The chef had only come back to himself a few hours ago at dinner and Chopper wouldn’t let him smoke. Fucking reserve food supply. He knew Chopper was probably right, but fuck.

Sanji looked up at the dark glittering moonless sky overhead, it was probably only a couple hours since he’d fallen asleep. The chaos of the dinner after he’d broken out of whatever state he’d been in had progressed into the chaos of Chopper needing to do an immediate check-up. The evening had been a bit of a blur, and Sanji had gone to bed fairly soon after the doctor had looked him over. But now there were still many more hours left before dawn. Fuck, the chef was certain he couldn’t go back to sleep in the bunkroom. The oppressive darkness reminded him too much of the prison cell at the Marine base, and also the one from his childhood. The chef felt his heart speed up again and his breath was getting short. He began to run through his breathing exercises to calm his runaway heartbeat. Fuck! He thought he’d gotten over all this nightmares and trauma shit years ago.

Since he was up and not going back to sleep, he might as well do some of the stretches that Chopper had asked him to do. The chef began to move through his warm-up routine, and the chilled deck felt good on his bare feet. The movements were slower than he would want. Shit, his legs, feet, and hands still ached horribly. He could feel tears forming at the corners of his eyes during a couple of the deeper stretches, but he persisted. A little pain meant the body was working and that he was still alive.

“Oi” said a soft rumbly voice near Sanji when he was just finishing up ‘Crane drinks water’ and he near jumped out of his skin.

“Fucking marimo bastard!” the chef said as he snapped a hard blade kick at the shit swordsman’s head. Zoro’s hand easily blocked the kick and caught Sanji’s ankle, causing the chef to fall slightly off balance and wince in pain.

“Settle down, shit cook,” said the idiot moss head and gently levered Sanji into a sitting position on the deck and began massaging the bottom of the foot he had captured. “I brought you some blankets, so you could try to sleep on deck if you wanted.”

The chef’s stomach did a little flutter at the care the swordsman had taken, then he felt a couple of angry pops in the middle of the sole where Zoro was pressing. “Fuck! Shit bastard! Are you trying to maim me further!?” he yelled but didn’t pull his foot away. “Why the fuck are you helping me, swamp shit?”

“I have my reasons, curly brow,” said the moss for brains as he switched to the other foot. “Besides, Chopper said that this would help you heal faster, and I kind of need you back in top form so I can kick your ass for not securing yourself to the rigging when you went up that yard.”

“Asshat marimo-ooooooh,” said the chef with a relieved groan as Zoro worked on his heel, releasing a couple more tight muscles. Sanji was grateful it was too dark for the swordsman to see the blush on his face from that accidentally hedonistic outburst. “What the hell happened while I was away, anyway?”

“Your idiot self fell off the boat. We dropped everything and found you. You came back starved, tortured and crazy, and you’re still a moron. The End. I gotta go relieve Usopp on watch. Don’t tell Chopper about this,” the fucking bastard swordsman said, his voice sounding a little more gruff than usual, as he got up and dropped a pack of cigarettes and Sanji’s lighter into the chef’s lap, then left presumably for the crow’s nest.

“It’s up the other stairs, shithead,” Sanji shouted, picking up the cigarettes and lighter as his stomach did some more of those fucking fluttery flip flops that he was refusing to consider the meaning of.

“Fuck off, dartbrow!” Zoro grumped and went up the correct stairs and entered the crow’s nest. The chef was bundling himself into one of the lawn chairs when Usopp came down a few minutes later and zombie walked to the bunkroom. Sanji could sense the aura of defeat and sadness surrounding the sniper even down on the deck. What had happened to his crew while he’d been gone?

The chef tapped the cigarette pack against his hand a few times to compress the tobacco and pulled one out. Lighting the cigarette, he took a long sweet drag, coughed a few times, and let the nicotine wash through him and calm him down. Fuck, it burned, but it was a good burn, and he’d get used to it again.

He glanced back up into the crow’s nest a little later as he was extinguishing the cigarette butt to see Zoro looking down on him. It was too dark to see the shit swordsman’s face, but the chef nodded his thanks before snuggling into his cocoon of blankets and drifting into slumber.

++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning, the sleeping chef woke to a shout of “SAAAAANJIIIII” and the weight of a rubbery young man dropping into his lap.

“Fuck! Luffy!” Sanji shouted, trying to push his captain off while being wrapped into a very snug hug.

Robin’s lilting giggle came from nearby, “We’ve missed you, cook-san. We’re glad to have you back.”

The chef immediately turned into a puddle of goo with hearts floating out of his eyes in every direction.

“Oh, Robin-chwan! My sweetest of darlings! Beloved of my heart! Your thoughts have made me grow wings to fly back to you with haste, and here I am at your feet to do your every bidding,” Sanji cooed as he tried to disentangle himself from Luffy and pulled both himself and his captain to Robin’s feet to grovel.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” sneered the kelp shit for brains. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Breakfast what?” asked the chef while trying to wrestle free of Luffy’s grasp. “Why is breakfast ready? Who cooked it?”

“Zoro-san has been cooking breakfast for the crew while you’ve been gone, Sanji-san,” Robin said smiling her mysterious knowing smile. “He was very adamant about it. Insisted quite fervently.”

“Come on, curly cue. Let’s get you into the galley,” said Zoro sending a glare to dearest Robin and then leaned over to try to pick up the captain wrapped chef.

“Hold it right there, fuck head! First, stop being an ass to darling Robin! Second, I can walk on my own! Luffy! Get off!” the cook said, squirming against his wriggling captain, who was still holding Sanji tight and crying weepy exclamations of “My cook!” and “so happy” into Sanji’s ear. The shit swordsman ignored the chef and proceeded to pick up both Luffy and Sanji and brought them both into the galley.

“Luffy, if you don’t sit down in your spot right now, I’m giving all your bacon to Jinbe!” Zoro threatened, and their captain promptly let the chef go and sat down at one of the tables, looking oddly patient with his hands under his legs. What the fuck? The chef had never been able to get Luffy to behave that well around food. The swamp fucker then plopped Sanji down in another seat, blankets and all, then sauntered into the kitchen as the rest of the crew began to assemble for breakfast. The marimo bastard started laying out a simple breakfast on the table: scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, cut fruit.

“What the fuck, shitty swordsman? Is that my apron!?” shrieked the cook, and sure enough, Zoro was walking around the galley wearing the pink ‘kiss the cook’ apron.

“Che,” said the swamp skull with a smirk. “It’s the only one I could find. Besides, it looks better on me.”

“You fucking bastard!” Sanji yelled and rose to throw a kick at the grassy asshat. Before he was even half way out of his seat, though, Nami walked over and put a hand on the chef’s shoulder, pushing him back down.

“Zoro! Remember your rule about fighting in the galley!” Nami-swan said, eyes narrowing viciously at the swordsman. “Don’t provoke him or I’ll increase your debt.”

“Fuck you, Nami,” said the green haired fucker, who then ripped off the apron, threw it on the ground and stormed out of the galley.

“I’m suddenly not feeling very hungry either,” said Usopp, and left as well. Nami watched the back of the sniper with a look of guilt and longing as he left, and the cook was left in complete bewilderment.

“Nami-swan, dearest of my heart, what just happened?” Sanji asked softly. It was beginning to feel like he didn’t recognize his own nakama anymore.

“Nothing to be concerned with Sanji-kun. You need to eat and get healthy,” Nami said with a sad sweetness, while Franky and Brook finished moving the breakfast from the counter to the tables. While normally, Sanji would have been over the moon with hearts flying everywhere at Nami’s concern, the chef felt like there was a huge weight hanging over the room, and he had no idea what was going on or how to fix it. Everyone began to dig in to the food, but no one was talking, and even Luffy was being significantly less grabby than he should have been.

“Chopper, when may I be allowed to begin cooking again,” Sanji asked the reindeer quietly while he ate. The breakfast was actually quite good. The eggs were slightly overcooked, but everything else was well done. He hated to do it, but he had to give the swordsman credit. The shithead was a decent cook.

“I can give you a check-up after breakfast,” said Chopper. “And if it looks like you’re healing up well, then I think you can resume your station at lunch.”

“Will you help me with something first?” Sanji asked as he finished his meal and put two plates piled with full breakfast portions, two glasses of juice and accompanying silverware on a tray before handing it to Chopper. “Can you help me make sure that shithead and Usopp eat breakfast?”

“Sure,” the little reindeer said grabbing the tray.

“Luffy,” the chef said. “Once everyone else is done, you may finish up everything else.”

“Whoohoo!” said his captain and began to grab at all the remaining food on the tables. Sanji held the door for Chopper as they walked out onto the deck. His feet and legs were still sore, but he was going to walk on his own from now on. His pride wouldn’t let him be carried around by that ridiculous brute anymore.

They headed first to Usopp’s workshop, finding the sniper in there weeping quietly. It broke his heart to see his friend so upset about something, but it was rather obvious that the long-nosed man only wanted to be left alone for now.

“Usopp,” Sanji said with a quiet gentleness. “We brought you some breakfast, please eat.”

“*cough*cough* my allergies are acting up,” said Usopp sniffling and wiping his eyes then taking one of the servings off the tray. “Thank you, Sanji. It’s good to have you back.”

“I didn’t know you had allergies, Usopp!” Chopper chimed in. “This is terrible! We’ll have to find you some antihistamines!”

“Not right now, Chopper,” said Sanji gently. “Let’s leave him alone so he can eat first. Usopp, return the plates to the kitchen when you’re finished.” The cook smiled kindly at the sniper and ushered Chopper back out onto the deck.

“Chopper, where would the idiot swordsman be?” asked the cook.

“Well, usually at this time of day, he’d be in the galley cleaning up. He was always very thorough about making sure your galley was in perfect condition. He said he had to take care of it, so it was ready for you when you got back,” the little doctor said cheerily. Those shitty butterflies began invading Sanji’s stomach again. Fuck. That bastard marimo had taken care of his treasured galley. Did that swampy swordsman even realize how much it meant to Sanji to know that someone cared enough to do that for him?

“He might also be in the aquarium lounge,” Chopper continued. “Sometimes, when you were away, he’d go up there to think, or cry when he didn’t want anyone to see.”  Sanji was reminded of the night of Kuina’s ritual, and what it felt like to see tears on that strong man’s face and it still tore at his soul.

They made their way to the lounge and quietly opened the door. The idiot marimo was in there sitting on one of the benches, leaned over with his head in his hands. As the swordsman lifted his head, Sanji thought he saw wetness under the man’s eye before Zoro quickly wiped it away. The chef felt a small agonizing squeeze on his heart to see that. Shit, Chopper may have been right. But what would the moron moss head have to be upset about now? The chef set the tray down on the bench next to the green haired man and said gently, “Eat.”

He then turned his back on the swordsman and left the room, taking Chopper with him.

++++++++++++++++++++

A few hours later, when Chopper was finally finished with his exam and had given Sanji the all clear to begin cooking again with provisos to rest if he got tired or was in too much pain, the chef took a shower, dressed, and headed into his galley to assess the state of it. Other than the obvious remodel of the dining area, everything looked to be in excellent condition. His knives were all cleaned and sharp, as would be expected from the care of a swordsman. Fuck all those damned fluttery flip flops.

He opened the storage area and began inventorying the supplies and writing up a list of items to be purchased at their next island stopover. There were some staples that were fairly low, but not as low as he’d been expecting. However, Sanji was stunned at the state of the alcohol stores. It looked like they hadn’t been touched. In fact, it looked like there was even more alcohol than before he’d left. Had no one drunk anything since he’d been gone? Not even that alcoholic marimo? The chef didn’t even know what to think of that.

Sanji found a separate section had been created in his supply log entitled “Shit we stole from the fuckhead marines that had the cook”. It was written in a very careful neat script, but had items listed like:

beans of some kind, 4 lbs  
some other kind of beans, 3 lbs  
what the fuck are these beans, 3.5 lbs  
are these actually beans, 2.5 lbs  
and so on.

But it also looked like all of the items listed had been neatly stored in their own section of the storage room, so should be fairly easy to catalog.

He needed to consider a simple lunch for now, since he would probably be spending a considerable amount of time this afternoon inventorying everything properly and getting back into his routine. It was slightly chilly out on deck, so they must be entering the influence of an autumn or winter island. A nice seafood stew in bread bowls should be easy enough.

His head was down in outlining the menu for lunch and he had just set the oven for baking when he heard the galley door open.

“Give me just a moment,” he said, waving to whoever it was in the dining area and pulling a couple of the larger stock pots into the sink and filling them with water. The cook hissed a breath through his teeth as he felt a sharp pain in his hands while lifting the heavy pots to the stove top and turning the burners on high.

“Sanji-san, do you need any assistance?” inquired the beautiful raven-haired woman sitting politely at one of the galley tables.

“Ah, my dearest dove, Robin-chwan. I thank you for your most gracious offer. You are a treasure among treasures. If I am to serve you well, alas, I must get back into my own routines. But if you are willing to indulge me with some answers, and perhaps a story, I would be most obliged to you,” the cook simpered with hearts floating around the galley while kissing Robin’s hand.

She smiled indulgently and replied, “I believe you also have an interesting story to tell, if I may ask for yours in return. A story for a story. It seems only fair, does it not, Sanji-san?”

“Of course, my delicate flower, you always come to the center of it with excessive accuracy,” the cook bowed ridiculously, and returned to the kitchen to begin blooming some yeast for the bread while Robin giggled at his antics. “What can you tell me about the time we were apart and my rescue, my sweetest mellorine?”

Robin told him of the weeks long search, the lucky intrigue that Cavendish had executed to find his location, the false sea burial, and the exciting two days of rapid coup de burst. As she spoke, the chef put a kettle of water on the stove for tea and brought together the bread dough, then set it aside to rise.

“And how was the crew while I was away, my effervescent lady?” Sanji asked, placing a nice pot of tea and some biscuits next to her and pouring her a cup, then adding exactly a drop of milk and one sugar before passing it to her. His hands were shaking a bit due to the ache in his fingers from kneading the dough, and he prayed she wouldn’t notice.

“Ah,” she said, taking the tea and slowly drinking a sip. “Are you asking after the whole crew or one specific person? And I need to hear your story before I will speak another word. A tale for a tale, was that not the bargain?”

“You cut to the heart of it, my darling. I will, of course, tell my own tale, but it is of a most unpleasant kind and I hate to sully your good mood with it,” he said while beginning to chop vegetables for the stew.  He told her as delicately as he could of the barren island and the waiting, the starvation and his ‘rescue’ by the marines, his subsequent torture and belief that all of them were dead. He left out the constant vigilance of Zoro’s ghost, who had stayed with him throughout the ordeal.

“Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “I am so sorry you had to endure all that, but I am happy you are returned to us. You had been dearly missed, quite desperately by some.”

“By some, dear one?” he inquired.

“Indeed, your swordsman was beside himself with grief while you were away from us, and upon your rescue, he has been constantly by your side, caring for you with the same devotion he gives to his precious swords,” Robin said, and he was sure he saw a sly smile hidden behind her tea cup.

“My… swordsman?” he spluttered as those shitty butterflies began fluttering around almost uncomfortably. “I detest to disagree, dearest of my heart, but surely you must be mistaken. Zoro would never…..” be his. He was certain of it, wasn’t he?

“Hmmm?” Robin said, raising an eyebrow, amusement plain in her voice. “Of course, you must be correct, Sanji-san. I could never claim to know the heart of a warrior.”

“Indeed. But tell me dear lady,” Sanji said in a very obvious effort to change the subject. “Tell me of what might be troubling Usopp. I hate to see a friend in distress when there might be something I could do to help.”

“Alas,” Robin said with a sigh, putting down her now empty tea cup. “I’m not sure what help can be had there. Usopp-san and our dear navigator became very close while you were away, but she was reckless with his heart. I think if they can come to terms, they might find some happiness with each other, but as it is, their hurts are speaking louder than their care.”

Sanji was surprised that he didn’t feel any jealousy toward the sniper upon hearing this. He looked within himself and tried to find any, and yet there was none. Just an ache for his friends who were hurting.

“Well, my dulcet blossom, if you can think of any way that I might assist with this lover’s trial, please let me know. You know I would do anything to ensure Nami-swan’s happiness,” the cook spoke from his heart. “And you have given me much to consider in other matters as well. Before you go, my darling, can you tell me who it is that kept my kitchen and the stores in such a divine state?”

“It was Zoro-san,” she said, and swept out of the room in a breath of floral perfume. And who should walk into the galley next but the bane of his existence and cause of all his confusion. The grass headed swordsman, himself. Fuck.

“Robin said you might need some help with lunch,” the shit marimo mumbled.

“Do I look like I need any assistance, swamp shit?” Sanji asked, just as his hand cramped up completely on his knife and the chef winced out a hiss of pain, unable to open his hand to release the knife.

Zoro rolled his eye. “Of course not, your highness. Now shut up and sit the fuck down for a second.”

The oafish bastard came around into the kitchen and gently massaged Sanji’s fingers until they were able to release the knife. Then, he roughly pulled the cook into the dining area and forced him into a chair while sitting himself down and continuing to press and knead all the fingers and palm of the chef’s hand. Sanji tried to kick the moss for brains in the head, but the swordsman just batted it away and continued working on the hand until he was satisfied.

“Give me the other one,” the shitty lawn said with a scowl. Sanji glared and held out his other hand for the same treatment.

“What the fuck did you do to my storage log, idiot pseudo-cook?” the chef asked, doing everything he could to keep from showing how good the massage felt.

“What’s wrong with it?” said the swamp head. “I listed everything we found and kept track of everything we used, just like you would have.”

“Why? Why did you take care of my galley?” Sanji asked emphatically. “And thirteen different kinds of beans, shit marimo? Really?”

“I have my reasons,” mumbled Zoro, and were the swordsman’s cheeks tinging pink? What? The? Fuck?

“Well, you’re done now, so you can take your shitty reasons and get out of my galley,” the chef said scathingly, taking his hand back since the swordsman had stopped massaging it and appeared to be just holding it, gently swiping a thumb over Sanji’s palm. “And take a fucking bottle of sake with you before you die of thirst, shit head.”

Sanji saw the small absurdly shy smile that Zoro gave before the swordsman opened the sake cupboard, took a bottle and left the galley. The chef’s stomach just about leaped into his throat. This fucking butterfly shit was going to need to be dealt with soon or the chef was going to go insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some interesting information about the location in Sanji’s dream, look up Richat Structure, also known as the Eye of the Sahara, and view some of the images of it.


	10. Zoro tries to figure some stuff out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro tries to think about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: fluff and idiocy

A terrified scream burst out of the darkness of the men’s bunkroom and woke Zoro from his restless slumber. The shit cook. He heard the man scramble off the bunk and out the door.

“Zoro,” mumbled Luffy.

“I got it, Captain, go back to sleep,” the swordsman responded, but the rubber boy was already snoring away again.

Peering out the bunkroom door, Zoro could see the chef sprawled on deck against the railing in his plaid flannel pajamas, brushing his fingers through his hair. He was unable to see the cook’s face, the stars that smattered the moonless sky did not give enough light, but Zoro could imagine the expression. Dreams like the those the chef had probably dreamt had followed the swordsman’s own sleep for a while after Thriller Bark and Sabaody. 

The swordsman heaved a heavy sigh then turned back into the bunkroom and picked up the t-shirt he’d been wearing that day and gave it a sniff.  Seemed fine, so he put it on and grabbed the blankets from Sanji’s bunk. A thought occurred to him then, and he also searched Chopper’s locker for Sanji’s cigarettes and lighter.  Coming back out, he could see the chef’s form moving slowly through a series of stretches. Zoro could see every twinge and stiff stutter Sanji’s body made, but fuck all if the curly brow didn’t still look fluid and graceful as an ocean current. The idiot eyebrows was poetry on legs, even more so when he thought no one was watching and let go. The green haired man wanted to join, perhaps do some of those forms they’d done for Kuina and whomever it was that Sanji had lost. Unfortunately, he knew that would be a very bad idea. Sanji needed to feel strong again and joining those stretches right now would make the chef feel weak.  Zoro needed to help without it looking like he was helping.  He was going to need to be delicate about this.

The idiot chef was standing with bare feet on the deck just over shoulder width apart, slowly swinging his upper body up and down, arms high overhead palms up and finger tips touching at the apex, and then down until his palms touched the deck and his elbows bent.  The swordsman dropped the blankets onto the deck and quietly approached the chef.

“Oi,” he said low, and braced himself for the explosion he knew was going to occur.

“Fucking marimo bastard!” said the shit cook and launched out the expected kick to Zoro’s head.  The swordsman blocked it and grabbed Sanji’s ankle. 

“Settle down, shit cook,” Zoro said as he more felt than saw the wince the chef made, but he still gently twisted the cook’s leg in such a way that forced the moron to sit down on the deck. Once the dumbass was seated, the swordsman knelt down and began running his thumbs along the bottoms of curly cue’s captured foot, pressing into any tense and tight tissue he could find.  “I brought you some blankets, so you could try to sleep on deck if you wanted.”  Zoro pushed on a couple muscles that threw out loud popping sounds like one of Usopp’s capsules. 

“Fuck! Shit bastard! Are you trying to maim me further!?” the chef bellowed. “Why the fuck are you helping me, swamp shit?”

Because he’d missed the shit cook and couldn’t stop touching him as assurance he was indeed alive and back with them. Because his heart would skitter, and his chest kept doing this weird squeezy thing whenever the chef looked at him in certain ways or said certain things and he wanted to find out what caused it. Because he’d almost lost his friend, his nakama, his greatest rival again, and he was still coming to terms with how that felt. Because he still felt so much gratitude for what the chef had done for him during Kuina’s memorial and he couldn’t leave that debt unpaid. Because Luffy had ordered him to help the cook even though he’d probably have done it anyway. Because Sanji was the shit cook. Because holding the sleeping idiot dartbrow felt like home.  Because it hurt when Nami had kissed the ero-cook and the swordsman wanted to figure out why.  Because the stupid eyebrows took care of everyone else even while being an ass about it, but no one took care of the chef.

“I have my reasons, curly brow,” said the swordsman, glad that it was too dark for the shit cook to see his face because he knew there were some things he’d be unable to hide. “Besides, Chopper said that this would help you heal faster, and I kind of need you back in top form so I can kick your ass for not securing yourself to the rigging when you went up that yard.”

“Asshat marimo-ooooooh,” Sanji let out a guttural moan as Zoro pushed on a couple agitated muscles on the cook’s heel. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? The swordsman’s insides had gone all strange and fuzzy at that sound, and shit if he didn’t want to hear that again.

“What the hell happened while I was away, anyway?” the idiot dartbrow continued nonchalantly, as if that marvelously spine-tingling sound had not just come out of Sanji’s face. Damn.

“Your idiot self fell off the boat. We dropped everything and found you. You came back starved, tortured and crazy, and you’re still a moron. The End. I gotta go relieve Usopp on watch. Don’t tell Chopper about this,” Zoro said, his mouth feeling dry and rough as he let go of the curly cue’s foot.  It wasn’t time to relieve the sniper yet, but the swordsman needed to get away from the ero-cook right the fuck now.  As he got up, he pulled out the cigarettes and lighter and dropped them into Sanji’s lap then hurried up the stairs.

“It’s up the other stairs, shithead,” he heard the chef yell after him. Shit!

“Fuck off, dartbrow!” Zoro hollered back fuming and turned around to go up the other stairs. He entered the crow’s nest and found Usopp up there quietly crying. The sniper had been doing that on and off since Nami had pulled that shit at dinner. Fucking witch!

“Oi,” the swordsman said softly putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “You gonna be OK?”

“Yeah,” Usopp replied with a sniffle. “It’s just a bit dusty up here.”

“Go to sleep,” the green-haired man directed. “I’m up and per the captain’s orders, I need to keep an eye on idiot eyebrows down there.”

“OK. Thanks, Zoro,” the long-nosed man said, and moved to head out the door for the men’s bunkroom wearing defeat like a fucking badge of honor. Fucking Nami.

The swordsman stared out the window down at the deck where he could see the shadowed form of the chef making himself a bed on one of the lawn chairs. When the flame of the lighter flicked into existence, Zoro could see the excited eagerness on Sanji’s face as he lit up his first cigarette in weeks. The brief view made the green haired man’s insides go a little gooey for a moment. What the fuck was affecting him like that? It was almost like the feeling he got sometimes when he looked at Chopper or Luffy, but weirder. Something like fondness? For the shit cook? That would be stupid, right?

Watching Sanji smoke was a bit hypnotic. The swordsman stared at that burning cherry on the tip of the cigarette as it moved back and forth to the cook’s lips, letting his mind wander. He’d need to meditate on what was happening and ruminate over what he was feeling, what all of this might mean and how it might affect his dream and goal. When the cigarette was extinguished, and the tiny light was gone, Zoro closed off his mind for a while and sunk into the duties of the watch.

++++++++++++++++++++

Zoro was angrily pacing up and down the aquarium bar trying to get his temper under control. Breakfast had been a disaster. The swordsman had been thoroughly amused by Luffy’s affectionately grabby antics toward Sanji, but less amused by the cook’s simpering at Robin. But the swordsman had developed a ‘breakfast plan’ to get the cook back into normalcy and it was brilliant. The green haired man had deliberately worn the cook’s favorite apron because a riled-up cook was a hilarious cook, and they all needed to stop treating the shit cook like he was broken. He’d been looking forward to the fight that the idiot dartbrow would attempt to instigate over the apron, and then he could pull out his ‘Zoro’s rules of the galley’ list and put the asinine chef in his place. He’d even worked extra hard to cook the food as good as he could make it. At the end, he was going to challenge Sanji to a cookoff duel for control of the kitchen, which the shit cook would obviously win. And it would make the chef feel good about himself for the achievement, like wins always did, and everything would be back to normal. Yes, he knew he would have had to deal with some smugness on the cook’s part for probably weeks if not months afterward, but that wouldn’t be much of a change from the usual. The plan had been genius and had been going along well.  Then, fucking Nami stepped in.

Nami. Shit. She’d treated the chef like he was fragile and needed protection. Which was utter bullshit. Fuck! The shit cook was no more fragile than his swords were. They were precious, yes, but not fragile. The swordsman sat down on the aquarium bench and put his head into his hands. Why did his chest feel such an ache to see Sanji being treated like that? Zoro knew Nami irritated him every once in a while, especially concerning his debt, but the last time the swordsman had felt this truly angry at her he’d thought she’d killed Usopp.  He was beginning to feel wetness on his cheeks, and that was starting to piss him off too.

He looked up when the door opened and wiped the wetness from his face as the devil himself walked into the room with Chopper alongside, the little reindeer carrying a tray with food. Sanji was still barefoot in his old man flannel pajamas but managed to carry himself with all the irritating pomp as though he were wearing his best suit. Arrogant fucker. The chef took the tray from Chopper and, with a look the swordsman couldn’t interpret, placed the tray on the bench next to Zoro and said softly, “Eat.”

As Chopper and Sanji quietly left and he looked down at the tray, the swordsman felt his chest get that squeezy warm feeling again. Shit.  It was a full meal of everything Zoro had made for breakfast that morning. Scrambled eggs seasoned with salt, pepper, and a little garlic powder. Bacon roasted in the oven instead of on the stovetop. Buttered toast.  A bowl of cut fruit.  A large glass of freshly squeezed mikan juice.

The swordsman began to eat, but only because he knew the shit cook would get even pushier if he didn’t. He had just shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth when the door to the aquarium opened.

“Zoro?” the bitch asked as he took another bite from his plate.

“What the fuck do you want, Nami?” the swordsman said around a mouthful of fruit as he looked up.

“Ugh!” Nami said, with a disgusted look on her face. “Sanji’s right, your table manners are atrocious.”

Zoro swallowed and replied, “You didn’t come in here to talk to me about my fucking manners, witch, so say what you have to say and get out.”

“Fine, you ass,” she retorted, but then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

“What the fuck about last night? And shouldn’t you be apologizing to Sanji?” he glared at her. “You’re treating him like he’s broken and fragile. That’s the last thing he needs right now. What do you think that will do to him? He’ll be disappointed in himself all over again. Disappointed that he let us down by getting swept away by that storm, disappointed that he couldn’t resist the marines while they had starved him and broken his legs and hands. He doesn’t need us to think he’s weak! He needs us to make him believe that we still have faith in him.”

“I do still have faith in him!” she exclaimed, and he scoffed at that and pointed his fork at her.

“You know he’s loved you since he first joined this crew, he does everything for your approval, and you treat him like a fucking slave. And it’s gotten worse since you all got back from Totto Land. I don’t know exactly what happened there, but he’s gotten downright desperate to make something up to all of us, especially you. Then you kissed him, Nami! What do you think that will do to him?” he asked.

“He doesn’t remember,” Nami muttered.

“That’s not the point! What if someone tells him? What is he going to think? How is he going to react when he realizes that you didn’t mean it?” the swordsman asked.

“You’re one to talk! Since when do you care so much? We all thought you hated him, but you’ve been ridiculous over him for weeks!” the navigator said heatedly. “And you talk about not treating him like he’s fragile or weak, HA! You’ve been treating him like he’s one of your precious swords since we got him back!”

“BECAUSE HE IS PRECIOUS!” Zoro stood up and shouted, then went completely still with eye wide open in shock as all the blood drained out of his face.  They both stood there in silence for a few moments facing each other as the aquarium quietly bubbled behind them.

“Well, well, well,” said the witch with a smug look on her face. “I think I may owe Robin some belli, but I’ll increase your interest by an appropriate amount to offset the difference.” She waved her hand dismissively through the air. “All the same, though. I do want to apologize. If I had realized your feelings ran so strongly, I would not have done what I did. So, I’m sorry.” 

“DON’T YOU SAY A FUCKING THING TO ANYONE, WITCH!” he yelled at her back as she left the room.  Fuck! That went about as terrible as it could go.

++++++++++++++++++++

The swordsman had been meditating on deck for a couple hours trying to clear his head in order to think about what was going on inside his own mind. Zoro was going to make a list of the weird shit surrounding the dumbass eyebrows and address them head on. Always take out the biggest one first.

Point one. He’d said Sanji was precious. Out loud. To another person. Right. He did it. He couldn’t deny it. The cook was important to him. He needed to admit and own that. How important? He wasn’t sure yet, but more important than he’d realized until Nami had pushed him. Of course, he’d equated Sanji with Kuina a few times now, so the shit cook was getting to be in the realm of fucking extremely important. The swordsman didn’t want to lose the shit cook like he’d lost his childhood friend and rival.  He knew that much for certain.

Point two. He’d been having weird physical reactions to the cook. Squirrelly stomach, jittery heart, squeezy chest, and those weird gooey insides.  Plus, those sounds the cook made while Zoro had been massaging his foot were like electricity up and down his spine. This one he might need to talk with Chopper about.  If it was some kind of disease or allergic reaction that could affect his training, he needed to know so he could get it treated.  But he also wanted to touch the cook, hold him, rub his thumb over the idiot eyebrows. Addiction of some kind? Maybe some sort of mind control? Must be something really strong and hard to resist. The swordsman had had to endure mental training by Mihawk, so he knew beyond doubt that his mind and will were strong. Maybe the cook was some kind of magic allergy inducing addictive mind wizard now? No, that was just stupid. He’d revisit this one after talking with Chopper.

Point three. He wanted to do things that would please the cook and make things easier for the man. He always seemed to find himself inadvertently helping people whether he wanted to or not. Just look at those kids in Water 7. And right now, the shit cook was a fucking mess and needed help, whether he wanted it or not. Once curlybrow healed back to his normal powerful state, Zoro was sure these urges would go away.  Besides, he was helping on Luffy’s orders, and the swordsman was never one to skate by with the bare minimum of effort when heeding his captain’s orders. However, he can’t deny that he would probably help the shit cook even without Luffy’s order. What the fuck does that mean for him?

“It was Zoro-san,” he heard Robin say, breaking him out of his ruminations. Might as well stop now anyway. Things were no more clear now than they had been before he started meditation, with the exception of the need to talk with Chopper about allergies.

“Ah, Zoro-san. Would you be so kind as to assist our dear cook in preparing lunch? I worry that he might be getting gangrene,” Robin said sweetly as she approached him. Gangrene? His injuries hadn’t looked that bad. Shit!

He grunted his assent and walked into the galley.

“Robin said you might need some help with lunch,” he grumbled, looking at the shit cook. Fuck, he still looked horribly thin.

“Do I look like I need any assistance, swamp shit?” the assy eyebrows asked.

Zoro could see that Sanji’s hand was gripping the knife he was holding too hard and shaking far too much to be able to cut any of those vegetables. For fuck sake, the moron had cramped his hand and didn’t want to fucking admit it.  The swordsman rolled his eye. “Of course not, your highness. Now shut up and sit the fuck down for a second.”

The swordsman went around into the kitchen and grabbed the hand holding the knife. He gently kneaded each of Sanji’s fingers and got his thumb up under Sanji’s palm massaging anything he could reach until the cook’s hand finally let go of the knife. Then, still holding onto the hand, he lead the cook into the dining area and sat him down to continue pressing and releasing all muscles in the cook’s hand. Shit, the dartbrow’s hands still looked mottled in blacks and yellows. The chef’s prized and protected possessions, it was like seeing a nick in Wado’s blade. Just the sight had Zoro wanting to fly back to that fucking marine base and kill every single person there who’d harmed this man.  The swordsman batted the expected kick away then held out his hand for Sanji to give him the next one.

“Give me the other one,” Zoro said. The shit cook gave over his other hand, but the anger and irritation in the man’s gaze was extremely evident.  Good. Meant shit was getting back to normal after all the crazy of the last few weeks.

“What the fuck did you do to my storage log, idiot pseudo-cook?” the chef asked, his voice seeming a little more thready and high pitched than normal.

“What’s wrong with it?” said Zoro asked. “I listed everything we found and kept track of everything we used, just like you would have.”  And he had.  He’d kept immaculate details of everything going into and out of that store room.

“Why? Why did you take care of my galley?” Sanji asked. “And thirteen different kinds of beans, shit marimo? Really?”

Why did he take care of the cook’s galley? Guilt for breaking it? Care for something he knew its owner cherished while said owner was away? He had treated the galley the way that he’d hoped Sanji would treat his swords, should the need ever arise. Could he actually say any of this? Fuck no! And why did his face feel hot when he was thinking about it?

“I have my reasons,” he mumbled. The green haired man looked down and saw that he’d stopped massaging Sanji’s hand and was gently tracing small circles into the cook’s palm with his thumb. Shit!

“Well, you’re done now, so you can take your shitty reasons and get out of my galley,” moron dartbrow said nastily and tore his hand away from the swordsman. “And take a fucking bottle of sake with you before you die of thirst, shit head.”

Did the cook just? He just offered him sake! The swordsman felt his insides go a bit gooey again and grinned a bit to himself. He walked over and pulled a bottle from the cupboard and left the galley before Sanji could change his mind.

++++++++++++++++++++

Lunch and dinner had been good. The cook had made simple but nourishing dishes, and everyone made sure that Sanji had eaten at least two helpings at each meal. Even Luffy was sneaking food onto the chef’s plate rather than off it. And Robin had cajoled the chef into eating several snacks throughout the day.

Over dinner, Usopp had still looked like someone had burned the Merry again, but Luffy, Chopper, and Brook had been silly enough that the sniper had cracked a couple smiles and even laughed a bit. The chef had been earnestly discussing something with Franky and Jinbe, while Nami had just kept her head down. Robin kept looking over at the swordsman with a weird creepy smug look on her face, and he kept expecting her to tell him that she could predict exactly when he’d die of dysentery, or get bitten by a snake, or drown.

Zoro had been scheduled for first evening watch.  He had seen the cook come out of the bunkroom with blankets early on during the watch and settle himself into one of the lawn chairs to sleep. Snow had begun to quietly fall about half way through the watch, and the green haired man had let go of everything his mind had been chasing and simply stared after the white fluff as it drifted slowly to the deck. After Jinbe had come up to the crow’s nest to relieve him, the swordsman had walked over to see how the chef was doing and found the sleeping man shivering and whimpering and covered in a light dusting of snow. Fuck. 

Heading to the infirmary first, he rifled through some of the cabinets until he found a bottle of Chopper’s standard pain killers and put it into one of his pockets. Then he went out the door of the infirmary and found himself standing in the galley. Since when did the infirmary connect to the galley? The swordsman shrugged and poured a glass of water, then went out on deck.  He set both the pill bottle and water glass on the foremast bench then headed up to the men’s bunkroom via the galley again.

In the bunkroom, Zoro pulled off his boots and cargo pants, then pulled on his sleep pants, grabbed his mattress and bedding, and lugged it out onto the deck. He pulled the mattress into the lee of one of the trees on deck in a space that was free of snow and got all the sheets, blankets, and pillows situated.

He grabbed the pill bottle and poured two of them out onto his hand, then put it back on the bench and took the glass of water over to Sanji.  Setting the glass down next to the chef, he gently rubbed his thumb over the visible curly eyebrow and said quietly, “Oi, cook.”  Pulling his hand away quickly once he realized what he’d done. Fucking mind wizard!

Sanji’s eyes fluttered open, completely shadowed in the dark of the night on deck. “What do you want, shitty marimo?”

“Pain killers,” the swordsman said, and handed the cook the pills and water.  The cook popped the pills into his mouth and immediately swallowed them down with some water.

“Thanks,” Sanji said handing the glass back.

“Also, a better place to sleep,” Zoro said, putting the glass back on the foremast bench. “Come on.”

He helped the cook get up out of the lawn chair, and Sanji didn’t complain, then grabbed the cook’s blankets and lead the chef over to the mattress he’d just laid out. 

“Here, lie down,” said the swordsman and watched as the cook settled himself onto the mattress, putting the cook’s blankets on top of the other ones.  He heard the chef sniff at something, and then felt a kick impact his knee. Fuck, idiot dartbrow was getting stronger by the minute! That might have actually bruised him!

“This is your bed, idiot swamp skull!” hissed the cook. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Where the fuck are you going to sleep, moron?”

“I don’t know, the galley? The infirmary? The… OW! FUCK!” the swordsman shouted as a foot connected with his ankle and knocked him to the deck, his hip hitting the ground with a hard thud.

The cook lifted the blankets and said viciously, “Get in here, asshat lawn, before I change my mind.”

Zoro didn’t argue. He rolled onto the mattress, lay down on his back and pulled the blankets up to his chin. Sanji moved the swordsman’s arm out of his way and nestled himself next to Zoro’s side, putting his own arm across the green haired man’s chest and resting his head on Zoro’s shoulder. The swordsman put his arm around the cook’s back and pulled him a little closer and arranged the blankets around them until they both seemed comfortable.  His chest started doing that giddy stutter again as he put his nose into the shit cook’s hair, fuck.

“Now, shut up and go to sleep, bastard marimo. I’m tired,” the idiot chef said.

“I didn’t say anything, dartbrow,” the green haired man murmured, trying to calm the weird rolling around his stomach was doing.

“I said shut the fuck up, shitty earthquake,” hissed Sanji, and the swordsman felt a sharp kick to his calf. “I have to get up early to make breakfast tomorrow.”

Zoro stayed there in stillness, smiling and listening as the cook’s breathing evened out into a soft snore. This was nice, peaceful, warm.  For a while, he watched the snow fall quietly to the deck in the dim light of the night before his eye got tired and he followed the chef into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Ten chapters. Thank you to all who are still reading! You are all amazing! There is still more to come.


	11. Sanji has an epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro makes an accidental confession and Sanji comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks, all the fluff you could ever need.

_Waves crashed below as Sanji sat on the cliffside hoping, praying, dreaming of rescue. He’d lost track of the days he and Zeff had been there, and the days since they’d run out of food and he’d tried to kill Zeff.  Hunger clawed at him as he looked once again out to the sea below for salvation of some kind._

_“Oi. You’re dreaming again,” said the voice of a quiet earthquake, and warmth surrounded him as a spiced chocolate scented breeze blew past. Sanji looked behind him at the barren island and saw the shit swordsman standing nearby. The marimo looked much taller than usual, but the bored sneer was exactly the same._

_“No! You can’t be here!” his ten-year-old voice said as his heart quickened in fear and he began to cry. “No! You can’t! There’s no food! Zoro! The shitty geezer gave me all the food and it’s gone! I can’t feed you!”_

_The marimo came to him and pulled him into the kind of tight embrace that his mother use to give him, rocking him slowly and making shushing noises, as the chef walked to his garden._

_The garden stretched for several yards in all directions. Sanji loved this garden with its rows and patches of vegetables, lettuces and herbs in the middle, sunflowers, corn, rosemary and lavender in each corner, and various fruit trees around the edges. It had been built for him as a gift for some special occasion that he couldn’t remember._

_All the oaken fence posts, he knew, had been pounded into the ground with strength and care. The scarecrow, which wore an old tattered white t-shirt, black cargo pants, and green haramaki, had been placed about a month ago to ward off the migratory birds during the harvest season. Every time he worked in this garden, planting, weeding, watering, tending, harvesting, he felt the devotion of the one who had built it for him and his heart would soar. But he couldn’t remember their name, or their face._

_A good number of cucumbers, carrots, and onions were ready for pickling, and Sanji was filling his reed bushel basket with them to carry back into his kitchen.  He then walked over to the dill and cut off several sprigs of the vibrant green herb and pulled up several garlic bulbs as well. Once his basket was full, he picked it up and made his way back toward the cheerful cottage that butted up against the garden._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something rising up into the sky. He turned and gasped, dropping the basket to spill all of the gathered items over the ground. His garden was burning! Flames were leaping and dancing across the branches of the fruit trees, heavy clouds of ash and smoke rising into the air._

_His beloved scarecrow became a mass of roaring flame, which hefted itself off its pole and began moving toward him, its arms reaching to embrace.  It wrapped its flaming limbs around him as a lover would, and pulled him close, smelling of spiced cocoa and iron.  Comfort and fear warred in him, as fire licked up his body to settle in his stomach. PAIN! HUNGER! THIRST! DYING!_

_“Oi, cook, wake up,” the flaming scarecrow whispered, gently rocking him as it burned away the flesh of his body, turning it all to ash._

_“SANJI!”_

He screamed until there was no more breath and rolled himself off the mattress onto the snow-covered deck lawn, arms flailing around in an attempt to put out the phantom flames running over his chest and stomach. His heart was beating far too rapidly as he looked frantically around the deck, catching sight of a shadowed form moving to loom over him.

“Get the fuck back!” the chef shouted, kicking out at the shadow, and making rough contact with something solid. Sanji wrapped his arms around himself and curled into his knees as a burning ache began to gnaw within him. 

“Oof! Shit! Cook, it’s me!” the shadow said as it coalesced into the shit swordsman, hands out in a gesture of placation. “It’s me.”

“Don’t touch me! FUCK!” Sanji cried as sweat began running down his face into his eyes, stinging them even as he shivered from the cold air, his breath coming in short gulping hiccups. Panic was pulsing out from his chest down his limbs in tingling staggering waves.

“Just breathe,” he heard the gentle sleep rumbled voice of the shadow marimo say as a rhythmic tapping began to sound nearby. “In. Two. Three. Four. Hold. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four. And again…”

After a few minutes of listening and following the breathing exercise with which he was becoming uncomfortably intimate, Sanji could feel the waves of panic beginning to fade, and a lethargy started to take over his arms and legs.  The pangs of hunger continued to persist, and Sanji needed to eat something, now.

“Are you good?” the shit swordsman asked carefully, and the chef was really getting sick of this shit.  It had been three days since he’d made the decision to sleep out on deck, sharing the bed with the marimo. They’d never spoken about the arrangement, continuing to snipe and argue and irritate the fuck out of each other throughout each day while the chef got his stocks and stores back in order.  But at the end of each day, Sanji would lie down on the mattress that the moron swamp for brains had set up for him on deck.  He found the spiced cocoa scent of the pillows to be stupidly comforting.  Then at some point during the night, when the shithead’s watch duties or training sessions were done, the chef would find the swordsman lying next to him, strong arms wrapping around him pulling him into a solid delicious warmth, and the cook would feel safe enough to drift into sleep.  Invariably, Sanji would also wake up screaming in a full-blown panic some hours later, sometimes two or three times a night. Fuck.

“I’m fine,” the chef replied shivering slightly as the cold of the night began to sink into his skin.

“What do you need?” Zoro asked.

“Food,” Sanji said. “Something, anything, to eat.”

“Can you make it to the galley, or do you want me to bring it out here?” the green haired idiot asked.

“I can make it to the fucking galley, swamp shit,” Sanji sneered but found his legs completely uncooperative when trying to get up, his limbs flailing like a wooden marionette whose strings had been cut. “FUCKING SHIT!”

He heard the shit swordsman let out a huff nearby as strong arms came around under his arms and legs. This was also becoming a common unspoken thing as well and it irritated the fuck out of the cook. He was not a fucking helpless damsel. He was the rescuer of said damsels, and this was getting downright embarrassing. It was also completely humiliating that every time those arms came around him for whatever reason, his chest would throw out a joyful stutter and he would vehemently deny to his dying breath that he saw a small heart floating away once or twice. Fuck the shitty bastard for taking care of him with such gentle persistence.  He crossed his own arms in front of himself in a petulant pout to keep from throwing them around the fucking asshole’s neck and snuggling into that marvelous strength. 

“The galley is up the other stairs, shit for brains,” the chef said wearily, wanting to ask once again why the shit swordsman was helping, but the cook was getting tired of the ‘I have my reasons’ bullshit answer every time. And the even more idiotic thing, the swampy asshat has not said one word about any of this. He had seen that Sanji had needed help from time to time and given it. The moron marimo had not made the cook feel weak or stupid, he’d never tried to rile Sanji up by mentioning anything the cook had needed help with.  Their recent snipes and arguments had been over normal crap and nothing about having to care for him. It was confusing the hell out of the chef.

The shit marimo finally made it to the galley after three more wrong turns and deposited the cook gently onto the couch in the dining area before heading into the kitchen. Sanji tightened his arms around himself as the pain in his stomach increased and he knew he was on the verge of another bout of panic.

“What do you want?” grass head asked brusquely.

“ANY FUCKING THING!” the cook shouted as the shitty anxiety waves began washing over him again. He gritted his teeth against another scream that was trying to bubble up out of his chest and his hands clutched at his shirt in agitation.  The edges of his vision were beginning to go black, and a blur of static sounded in his ears.  Sanji barely heard the clattering of something and glass shattering in the kitchen before he felt a rhythmic tapping on his hand and heard someone counting slowly. He tried to regulate his breathing, but it was extremely difficult when consciousness was escaping.  Sanji closed his eyes and let his body and mind drift for a while.

“Wake the fuck up, cook,” he heard the shit swordsman say close to his head, Zoro’s voice sounded worried. “Shit, wake up and eat something.”

“Stop making a fuss, asshole,” Sanji said.  The chef felt something moving on his hand, like a gentle rubbing or caress.  Sitting up on the couch, he opened his eyes and looked at his hand. “What the fuck did you to do?”

The marimo’s hand had a light hold on the chef’s hand and Sanji could clearly see a jagged cut across the swordsman’s palm, blood dripping freely onto the floor.

“The glass broke,” the idiot moss head said.

“You stupid fuck, come on,” the chef said, grabbing Zoro’s wounded hand and forcefully walking the swordsman into the infirmary. “Chopper is going to tear your asshole out and feed it to you.”

“It’s just a scratch, I’ve had worse,” the swordsman said, but let Sanji inspect the injured palm. The chef grabbed one of Chopper’s bottles of distilled water and irrigated the wound.

“I know you’ve had worse, but if it doesn’t get looked at you won’t be able to hold your fucking swords, dumbass. I don’t seen any glass in it.” Sanji said.

“Just put a bandage on it and call it good,” Zoro said. “I’ll have Chopper look at it tomorrow.”

“Promise me that you will,” Sanji said, glaring at the swordsman while applying some antibiotic cream to the wound. “Promise me, shithead.”

“Fuck, fine, curly brow. I promise,” the shit swordsman said sullenly as Sanji wrapped bandages around his hand.  The chef wore all the smugness of having won some kind of victory but continued to hold Zoro’s hand, running a thumb gently over the injury.

“Since I seem to have your undivided attention at the moment, I am going to ask you a question, and you’re going to give me a fucking answer, marimo,” Sanji said quietly while continuing to stare down at the bandages on the shit grass head’s hand and trying to calm all the shitty fluttering in his gut.  “Why the fuck have you been helping me? And none of your ‘I have my reasons’ bullshit. Tell me what at least one of them is. Just give me something. Please.”

“Shit,” the swordsman said, voice choked and stuttered, and kept staring at Sanji’s thumb as it moved over the bandages. The chef saw a drop of something clear fall from the marimo’s face and felt the hand he was holding tremble slightly. Zoro wiped his unbandaged hand over his face and pulled his other hand away while standing up. “We thought you were dead. When we found you. Fuck. You looked like a corpse and you weren’t moving. Chopper saw you breathing, but you were so broken and thin. And shit. As long as you’re breathing, I can do for you what I couldn’t do for Kuina, and I’m going to damned well do it until you’re well enough to kick my ass for it.”

Sanji stared down at his own hands and heard Zoro let out another choked sob. The chef felt a thumb swipe gently over one of his eyebrows before he heard the door open and close and footsteps head away from the infirmary. Emotions began to overwhelm him. Joy. Hope. Grief. Gratitude. He felt a strong twinge in his chest and before he knew it, his own tight control had been lost and he was lying in the infirmary bed, his breath hitching violently and tears flowing freely onto the pillow.

++++++++++++++++++++

Sanji had spent the rest of the night in the infirmary dozing fitfully on and off.  There had been no more nightmares at the very least, but at this point he’d rather have the nightmares and feel rested.  His galley had been completely cleaned of any broken glass, probably by Zoro. He decided to spend the rest of the day throwing himself into cooking and finishing the pantry and storage area inventory.  No, he was not avoiding thinking about the shit happening between himself and a certain assy swordsman.

The shit swordsman in question did not make an appearance at breakfast, and Sanji surmised that after the confession last night, the man needed some time to himself.  At the end of breakfast, Usopp had asked for a plate of food, which the sniper had presumably taken to the moss head.  The long-nosed man continued to look at Nami with an air of defeated longingly and the cook had witnessed his beautiful navigator returning the same to Usopp when the sniper wasn’t watching.  Sanji became determined to help those two in whatever way he could. Maybe a romantic dinner for two?

The chef pulled out his ‘Romantic recipes for two’ cookbook off the shelf and sat down at one of the dining tables to peruse a possible menu when he saw a folded slip of paper fall out of it onto the floor.  Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it.  It appeared to be a list.  Reading it, he began to laugh.

Zoro’s rules of the galley:

  * If Luffy grabs anything from another’s plate without asking, eats before anyone else has a chance to eat, or tries to get into the storage areas, Luffy only gets vegetables at his next meal. (Zoro, you are so mean!-Luffy)
  * ~~Nami is not allowed to charge for her services.~~ (Yes, she is.-Nami)
  * Luffy is only allowed to eat in the galley, he is not allowed to eat on deck, or the slide, or the energy room, or the flag staff above the crow’s-nest. (Can I eat on my seat on the lion?-Luffy. I am not a waiter.-Zoro.)
  * Usopp is not allowed to cook anything with spicy peppers in it.  (It was a recipe of my great chef grandcestor, and it was only the one time!-Usopp)
  * Anyone who starts a fight in the galley has to eat their next meal in the bilge, Luffy will eat vegetables in the bilge. (The bilge will be cleaned every day by those who eat there. Yow!-Franky)
  * ~~Any fish caught while the cook is gone will have to stay in the aquarium until the cook gets back since none of us can cook that shit.~~ (I can cook fish.-Jinbe)
  * Food wasted during food fights will be tallied and listed for the cook to deal with as he sees fit when he returns because he cares about wasted food and you should too. (Sanji never punished us for that!-Chopper, Luffy, Usopp. Yes, he did.-Nami)
  * Anyone who says the cook did or did not cook something or care about food can eat in the bilge before it's cleaned! 
  * You will eat what is made, no special snacks or treats until the cook gets back.
  * Don’t mess with the cook’s pantry or you will be responsible for inventorying it, except Luffy who will get only vegetables at his next meal. (I will help out with that, Zoro-san.-Robin)
  * Brook is not allowed to dance on the tables during meals, I don't care how lively the music is!
  * DO NOT DAMAGE THE COOK’S GALLEY OR YOU WILL BE KEELHAULED. NO EXCEPTIONS.



These were hilarious! The chef might even apply several of these himself, especially those that related to Luffy, since they’d seemed effective from what he could tell. His entire thought process was brought to a screeching halt when he heard loud shouting coming from the infirmary.

“NO!” it was clearly the swampy marimo. “NO! IT’S THAT AMARPHALANXISH SHIT! I’M ALLERGIC TO THE COOK! I AM NOT HAVING FEELINGS FOR HIM!”

What the shitty fuck!? Sanji gaped at the door to Chopper’s domain as Zoro burst through it into the galley. They both stared at each other, wide eyed, as the little reindeer followed the marimo, and the chef felt all the blood drain out of his face and his heart fluttered a staccato beat. The shit swordsman appeared to have gone completely pale as well.  Apparently, this whatever it was had been happening and he’d been reading the signs correctly. His stomach was invaded by a swath of fluttery butterflies and did a fucking floaty heart just leave his face? Well…..shit.

“Don’t say shit like that where the whole ship can hear you, lawn for brains!” Sanji shouted, standing up to prepare a swift kick to the moron swamp’s head.

“Stop listening in on confidential conversations, idiot dartbrow!” the fuckhead shouted back preparing to deliver his own pummeling. The chef pounced, leg held high, ready to deliver a devastating axe kick when Chopper got in the way and Sanji had to pull up short to avoid kicking the blue-nosed reindeer.

“Zoro! Get back here! I still need to look at your hand!” the doctor stated, grabbing the grass head’s bandaged hand and pulling him back into the infirmary then shutting the door. Sanji was going to make sure that Chopper got a very large helping of cotton candy at lunch time for that. Fucking hell!  The small doctor’s head poked back into the galley. “Don’t get too comfortable, Sanji. You’re next.”

Fuck. The chef quickly whipped up some hot drinks and cookie plates for the ladies and swept out of the galley before Chopper could hunt him down.

++++++++++++++++++++

The idiot marimo was conveniently missing from both lunch and dinner, Sanji sent plates of food out with Jinbe so the moron didn’t go hungry. After dinner, when it was time for Robin and Franky to do cleanup duty, the chef took some time to relax on the deck with a cigarette or two, or ten while watching the sun set over the horizon. Letting his mind just drift aimlessly so as not to have to think about what might be happening between himself and the shit swordsman.

“Sanji,” his captain said coming to squat on the railing nearby. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Luffy. Chopper says I’m almost completely healed,” the chef responded taking the last deep drag of his cigarette and stubbing it out before pulling out and lighting a fresh one. “The attack cuisine meals I’ve been making for myself have been speeding up the recovery from the malnutrition. I should be back to perfect in another day or two.”

“Sanji, that’s not what I meant,” Luffy said, looking at him with that serious glint in his eyes. “You’re still having nightmares.”

“Yes,” the chef replied, knowing that he could never lie to his captain.

“Has Zoro been helping?” Luffy asked.

“Yes,” Sanji said after a thoughtful pause, and it was true. The chef had the feeling that his nightmares and night terrors would probably be worse without Zoro’s help. And there were probably other little ways the swamp noggin had been caring for the chef that Sanji hadn’t seen yet. It still pissed him off. He didn’t want to need the shithead.  He didn’t want to need anyone.

“Good. You help everyone all the time. You don’t care for yourself enough. Stop being afraid to let someone care for you,” his captain said, and patted the chef on the head. There were times when he hated his captain for having such accurate insight. “Sanji. I’m hungry.”

“OK, captain. I’ll go fix you a snack,” the chef said, feeling like a weight had been lifted, and another one added. “Oh, and Luffy, I’m going to be implementing some of Zoro’s galley rules, especially the ones about vegetables.”

“SANJI! WHY?” his captain cried mournfully as though he’d just found out the One Piece was made of lettuce.

The chef made his way into the galley to find it was already occupied.  Brook, Franky, Jinbe, Robin-chwan and Nami-Swan were engaged in a very raucous round of poker. Of course, none of them played for money any longer, as Nami had been robbing them blind when they had. Now, they usually played for other things like shore-leave time, watches, ships duties, etc.

“Join us, Sanji-san,” beautiful Robin said.

“I would be utterly delighted to join you as soon as I have finished making this snack for our captain, my darling,” Sanji chortled, quickly preparing a meat and crackers tray for Luffy. “I will return in just a moment, my dears.”

The chef poked his head out the galley door and shouted, “Hey Captain! Snack!” before quickly getting out of the way as the voracious rubber boy bounced his way into the galley at top speed and began demolishing the snack tray. Sitting down at the open seat between Nami-swan and Robin-chwan, or as Sanji liked to call it, ‘heaven’, the chef was dealt in and began to play.

He’d missed this. These kinds of daily easy connections with his nakama. He’d been so busy getting his galley and stores back in order that he hadn’t had time yet to really reconnect with his crew. Conversations at the table ranged from when they’d arrive at the next island (tomorrow) to how long it would take to get back on course (twenty-eight days if they don’t stop anywhere or get involved with any adventures, so more like forty) to designs for a thicker more unbreakable glass for the windows of the crow’s-nest.

“Why would the window glass in the crow’s nest need to be even more unbreakable?” the chef had to ask.  He thought it was already as unbreakable as could be made.

“Oh, we need to make it Zoro-proof,” Nami-swan said.

“Zoro-proof, my dearest? Two cards.” Sanji said.

“Zoro-bro was SUPER upset when you were missing. Kept threatening Usopp to look harder. Throwing his weights through the windows when we couldn’t find you,” Franky added with a hitch in his breath and tears appearing in his eyes.  “Oh, it was so beautiful, I’ve been writing a song about the depths of his passion. I call it, ‘I Built a Galley for You.’ *sniff* Three cards.”

“He was quite beside himself while you were lost, and so determined to nurse you back to health once we found you,” Brook said. “It was so romantic it would warm my heart if I had one, yohoho! One card.”

“A man desperate to find his lost love, indeed, we feared he might have done himself harm if we hadn’t found you when we did,” Robin said, and all the others at the table hummed and nodded their agreement as she dealt out the requested cards to the other players. Sanji could feel his face heating up and his stomach was getting those shitty butterflies again. Fuck. When was the last time anyone had cared for him that deeply? The only people he could think of were Luffy, Zeff and his mother, and he felt his throat get a little tight at the thought of those three most important people in his life. Was Zoro becoming that important to him as well? Possibly more important?

“Well, you know Zoro,” beautiful Nami said. “When he sets his mind on something, he follows through even at the risk to himself. The only other thing I’ve seen him be as devoted to is his swordsmanship.  I’m just glad he finally stopped shouting at everyone and started taking care of the kitchen. With all the things he was breaking, our ship fund was getting pretty low. His only saving grace was all the treasure they found at the marine base. Call and raise two dish duties.”

“So, Sanji-bro, what do you think of your new dining area? Ow!” Franky asked while giving a questioning look to Robin who was glaring at the shipwright and shaking her head. “Um. The remodel was Zoro’s idea?” the cyborg continued, and the raven-haired goddess seemed to be content with that, but Sanji dearly wished he knew what those looks were all about. 

“It’s really wonderful, Franky,” the chef said with excitement coloring his voice. “You’ve outdone yourself. We can now fit the whole crew for meals and have room for some guests.  I love it!”

“Sanji-kun, are you and Zoro fighting? I haven’t seen you around each other all day. Usually he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy,” the ginger-haired beauty said.

“Ah, my treasure, we are…..Um.” Sanji replied quite flustered, cheeks feeling very warm, and realized that he’d just said ‘we’. “He had some training that he wanted to do that he’d been missing while he’s been… I mean to say that our ship’s duties…” he’d just said ‘our’. Fuck. “He’s busy training. I’ve been busy getting the pantry and storage back in order. Don’t worry about the moss head, my dearest, he’s….Um. Forgive me. I fold. Excuse me my beautiful darlings and assholes. Please wipe down the tables and turn out the lights when you’re finished.”  The cook put his cards down on the table and quickly left the galley. 

“Looks like he’s got it just as bad as Zoro, hope they figure it out. Alright, Jinbe, pay up,” he heard his Nami-angel say as he was leaving.

Walking into the men’s bunkroom to change into his pajamas, he began to think about what he was feeling.  The chef had been in love before. Many times. Love usually hit him like a lightning bolt or a crashing wave. It’s was sudden, thorough, and overwhelming. But never with men, once he knew they were men, fucking okama. These feelings he was having for Zoro though, were very similar to the loves he’d had before. He didn’t want to call it love just yet, because it had come on so gradually. It was more of a journey and less a destination, and perhaps stronger for it, which was actually pretty appealing. Yes, Zoro wasn’t a woman. He was about as manly as they came. He’d never dress up as a woman or expect the chef to dress or behave as a woman. He was a challenging equal, so what was he so afraid of?  That any feelings he had might be returned? That he might have actually found a companion who could support his dreams as he supported theirs? And from the sounds of it, it’s not as if his nakama wouldn’t approve, they seemed to be downright encouraging him to explore this opportunity.

He jolted slightly when the door to the bunkroom opened and realized as the moss for brains in question walked in that he had not yet put on his own pajamas and was standing in the middle of the room in only his boxers. The chef could feel his blush run down his face and across his chest. Fuck. They’d been undressed around each other with fair regularity on this ship, why was he feeling shy all of a sudden? Shit! He tried to put on an air of irritated nonchalance. “What?”

The shit swordsman came to a startled halt then coughed and said, “Chopper has a deep tissue healing cream he wants me to apply to your legs.”  Was the idiot marimo blushing? Fuck, why was his own blush getting deeper at the thought of Zoro touching his legs?

“I can do it myself,” Sanji said with as much distain as he could muster at the moment. “Just give me the jar.”

“Your hands haven’t recovered enough to get into the tissues the way Chopper wants,” the lawn for brains said.

“What about your hand?  It’s still injured. Let one of the ladies do it,” the chef said, getting a vision of Nami-swan and Robin-chwan sensually rubbing the cream up and down his legs. He felt his body go a bit noodley and some blood dripped from his nose.

“You’re ridiculous,” the mossy swordsman huffed with a scowl. “Have you seen your legs? They’re like fucking steel girders. The ladies don’t have enough strength either. I could get Franky to do it or you could just fucking lie down on the couch and let me do this, love cook.”  In Sanji’s mind, the ladies turned into Franky and his whole body shuddered with revulsion.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” the chef said and laid face down on the couch. Sanji heard a jar open before he felt a gentle touch on the back of his ankle which moved slowly up to the top of his leg and back down again. Everywhere the cream touched, he began to feel a cool burning sensation. He took a deep breath and let his body relax and sink deeper into the couch cushions.

The marimo moved with slow deliberation, narrowing in on knotted muscles and digging in to adhesions. It fucking hurt. The chef could hear himself emitting pained groans and expletives. He wanted to punch the moss head in the face, but he knew this was for his benefit, so he endured it. FUCK! He could feel his eyes tearing up when Zoro found a few of the more tender areas which were the muscles that had been near the break sites. Breathe. He needed to breathe through the pain. His calves, the backs of his knees and legs, were screaming with each touch, but the shithead would soothe them after loosening up the knots.

“Flip over,” the swampy moron said quietly, his voice sounding a little choked.

Sanji turned over onto his back and glanced at the swordsman’s face, which looked determined in spite of the evident tear tracks below his eye. The chef felt a sharp pain in his heart and reached up a hand to wipe Zoro’s face, but the swordsman batted it away.

“Don’t pity me my feelings, idiot cook,” Zoro said roughly, eye narrowing into the scowl which more suited the moron.

“Then stop weeping over my injuries, you big softy. You’re making me feel like a delicate damsel. I like you better when you’re a violent demonic teddy bear,” Sanji snarked, and smiled when he got the chuckle out of Zoro that he’d been hoping for. Holy fuck, that laugh. That did delicious things to the chef’s insides, and he knew how rare that laugh was. He wanted to hear it more often. Shit.

“Heh,” the swordsman harrumphed but cracked a small grin. “The day you turn into a delicate damsel is the day I’ll wear a tutu and join Bon Clay’s ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, moron marimo. Don’t even joke about that,” Sanji said, kicking Zoro gently in the chest then gestured at his legs. “And get back to work, you’re only half done. My legs aren’t going to massage themselves.”

The rest of the massage consisted of pain piled upon torture, with many vulgarities and death threats, and the banter was vicious and comfortable and familiar.  Afterward, the chef dressed for bed without a word and left the bunkroom.  A few minutes after he had climbed onto the mattress out on deck and tucked himself under the covers, Sanji felt a weight beside him and warm arms came around him to pull him close. The scent of cinnamon, ginger, cloves and chocolate and the tang of steel surrounded him, and he snuggled in deeper.

“Night, shit cook,” he heard Zoro rumble against the back of his neck and right there Sanji made the decision to actively woo the swordsman, plans running through his mind as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to life and uncooperative characters (I’m looking at you, Sanji and Zoro!), it took longer to write this chapter than I was expecting, but here it is. Enjoy.


	12. Zoro gets some advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro talks to various crew members about some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some of the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed.

It was the fourth night in a row now since he’d begun sleeping out on deck with the cook that the swordsman had been awakened by some kind of vicious attack. A kick to the groin. A knee to the gut. Even a slap to the face once. And it always took several minutes and lots of calm talking to get the terrified feral dartbrows to come out of whatever nightmare happened to be terrorizing him. Nightmares of starvation. Nightmares of imprisonment. Nightmares of helplessness and torture. Given what the shit cook talked about in his sleep, it seemed like these night-time terrors had been long time companions going back to the blonde’s childhood. Shit, that was all kinds of fucked up. Why did all of his nakama have to live through such horrible things?

This time, the shit cook had just rolled out of the bed and onto the deck, then kicked Zoro in the stomach when he’d tried to calm the panicked man. He had to carry the surly eyebrows into the galley tonight because sometimes the man’s legs wouldn’t work correctly after just waking up from one of these nightmares. The swordsman had just pulled a drinking glass from the cupboard when he heard a choked off scream and sliced his palm up in a jagged cut when the glass shattered in his hand. He rushed over and knelt down next to the cook trying to pull the man out of his panic by tapping on the chef’s hand and running through the counting for the breathing exercises. It wasn’t enough. The cook began to get that glazed blankness in his eyes before they shuttered shut, and the swordsman’s stomach dropped.

“Not again, shit cook. Stop doing this. Fuck!” Zoro said holding onto Sanji’s hand, rubbing circles over the back with his thumb. The green haired man didn’t notice the blood dripping from his own palm during the minutes he was trying to coax the idiot curly brow back into the world of the living.

“Wake the fuck up, cook. Shit, wake up and eat something,” the swordsman said next to Sanji’s ear, rubbing the thumb of his uninjured hand softly over the chef’s visible eyebrow. He hated this. This waiting and wondering if the irascible dartbrow was going to get lost within himself again. He felt a flutter of lashes against his cheek and pulled his head back to see if the cook was waking up.

“Stop making a fuss, asshole,” the shit cook said opening his eyes and the swordsman felt a rush of relief wash over him.

“What the fuck did you to do?” Sanji continued irritably. Oh, Zoro’s hand was still dripping blood. Well, shit.

“The glass broke,” Zoro admitted, the relief turning swiftly into guilt, although he wasn’t sure why. He’d injured himself before, frequently. Was he feeling guilt over breaking one of Sanji’s glasses?

“You stupid fuck, come on,” the dumbass chef said while continuing to hold on to the swordsman’s injured hand. It felt like a warm electricity was running up his arm beginning at the cook’s touch. What was happening? The blonde stood up like he hadn’t just been passed out and dragged Zoro into the infirmary. “Chopper is going to tear your asshole out and feed it to you.”

“It’s just a scratch, I’ve had worse,” the green haired man said feeling his cheeks get warm, while the shit cook inspected the wound. Sanji grabbed a bottle of something from one of Chopper’s shelves and started pouring it over the injury, clearing out any debris and blood. It was a weird turn of fate that the cook was taking care of him instead of vice versa. Zoro wasn’t quite sure he was comfortable with it.

“I know you’ve had worse, but if it doesn’t get looked at and gets infected you won’t be able to hold your fucking swords, shitty swordsman. I don’t seen any glass in it.” Sanji said. Did the shit cook just express concern about Zoro’s dream? Shit! His face got even hotter and his heart was doing that jittery thing again. He really needed to talk to the fuzzy little doctor about this condition.

“Just put a bandage on it and call it good,” Zoro said gruffly. “I’ll have Chopper look at it tomorrow.”

“Promise me that you will,” Sanji said as he applied some kind of cream to the wound. Fuck, he really hated when the idiot cook demanded shit from him. Promises were binding and shouldn’t be made lightly for frivolous things. But the dumbass dartbrow demanded it anyway. “Promise me, shithead.”

“Fuck, fine, curly brow. I promise,” the swordsman said as Sanji wrapped bandages around his hand. The shit cook was looking incredibly pleased with himself as he unconsciously rubbed his thumb lightly over the injury on Zoro’s hand. Why wouldn’t the chef let go of his hand? And why was his chest getting all squeezy again?

“Since I seem to have your undivided attention at the moment, I am going to ask you a question, and you’re going to give me a fucking answer, marimo,” Sanji said with a seriousness that the swordsman was sure he wasn’t going to like. “Why the fuck have you been helping me? And none of your ‘I have my reasons’ bullshit. Tell me what at least one of them is. Just give me something. Please.”

“Shit,” the swordsman said, his throat tightening and his chest getting that stupid stutter. He kept watching the curly cue’s thumb as it gently brushed back and forth over the bandages. Fuck. For a moment he was thrown back into that instance in time when they’d found Sanji in the marine prison cell looking like a broken emaciated corpse. Zoro felt that piercing agony of grief hit him again as it had then, that for a split second he’d thought the chef was gone, and something inside him had shattered. The swordsman could feel his ribcage being squeezed and his vision was getting watery. Hadn’t anyone told the shit cook this already? Why did he have to be the one to do it? Standing up, he pulled his injured hand away and wiped his good hand over his face, surprised to see wetness on his fingers.

“We thought you were dead. When we found you. Fuck. You looked like a corpse and you weren’t moving. Chopper saw you breathing, but you were so broken and thin. And shit. As long as you’re breathing, I can do for you what I couldn’t do for Kuina, and I’m going to damned well do it until you’re well enough to kick my ass for it.” Now this, this was a worthy vow. A vow between equals. Nothing more needed to be said. He carefully rubbed his thumb over the cook’s visible eyebrow as a kind of punctuation, then went out the door to the galley.

The swordsman thought about the promise he’d just made to the cook as he cleaned up the glass and straightened up the galley. He needed his cherished rival back in top form, and he was determined to make sure the dumbass blonde did whatever it took to return to that state.

++++++++++++++++++++

Zoro woke and struggled for a minute to figure out how he’d ended up on the bench in the aquarium lounge. Sanji. That’s right. He’d made that vow to the shit cook, cleaned the galley, then had come up here to think. Not that he’d gotten much thinking done. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he'd sat down.

He looked around and saw that someone had placed a plate of breakfast next to him. The shit cook? Probably not. The moron chef had no qualms about waking him up when he wanted him to eat, usually with a foot to the head.

It was some kind of savory waffles, and Sanji had put an herbed cream cheese for it in a small dish on the side. The meal had gone cold, but it was still heavenly. The idiot blonde had remembered that the swordsman didn't like sweet things, so Zoro knew that this was specially prepared for him and didn't that thought just make his insides go all fuzzy. Fuck, he was so grateful the moron was back and cooking again. He’d missed the chef’s cooking and he would spend his dying breath denying it vehemently.

Once he’d finished the meal, he left to look for Chopper. He’d made a promise to the cook, no matter how ridiculous it was, that he would check with the doctor about his hand.

“Oi. Chopper,” he said to the little reindeer who was fishing with Usopp and Luffy off the port-side railing. “I cut my hand last night.”

“Oh no!” shouted Chopper, flailing around with animated anxiety. “We have to find a doctor!”

“You’re a doctor,” said the swordsman with a small grin, goading the little furball in the most adorable way possible. “Best doctor we know.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. Your praises mean nothing to me,” Chopper piped back with a huge smile on his face, performing his happy wiggle. “Come on, let's take a look.”

Zoro followed Chopper through what must have been a secret shortcut to the infirmary.

“Alright, sit down and let me see your hand,” the little doctor said, suddenly all serious medical business.

“I wanted to talk to you about something first,” said the swordsman, sitting down on the infirmary bed while Chopper busied himself taking Zoro’s vitals and making notations in a chart. “I think I might be allergic to the shit cook.”

“I don't see anything in your medical history that would indicate any kind of allergies,” the blue-nosed doctor said. “And you’ve said that you’ve never experienced anaphylactic shock or any form of hives after being exposed to any substance. What are some of your symptoms that lead you to believe this is an allergic reaction?”

Zoro began to list off his symptoms, “My chest gets tight and my eyes get watery when I'm around him.”

“Do your eyes get itchy? When your chest gets tight does it feel like your throat is closing up or you can’t get enough air? Do your sinuses get tight or blocked? Are you sneezing or coughing more frequently? Are your nodes swelling?” Chopper asked while running a stethoscope up under Zoro’s shirt to listen to his lungs, and then running his hooves along the swordsman’s neck under the jaw to check his glands.

“No, nothing like that. Sometimes my heart rate speeds up or stutters when I talk to him or think about him, and my face feels hot. You don't think it could be mind control, do you?” the swordsman said.

“Hmmm,” the little doctor said. “I think you may be having a physiological response to a growing emotional attachment.”

“Is it serious? I don't want this to interfere with my training!” Zoro said. This was concerning. If Sanji was going to disrupt his dream that would be a big problem. Fuck! Was he going to be able to keep his vow to Luffy to become the world's best swordsman and keep his promise to the shit cook he’d just made the previous night? He couldn't break a vow, not one so seriously given. Shit! What was he supposed to do?

“This shouldn't interfere with your training unless you let it. You're developing feelings for Sanji. I think it's wonderful!” Chopper said, completely aglow with happiness. “I think you’d be good for each other, and so does the rest of the crew.”

WHAT? THE? EVER? LIVING? FUCK? Feelings? Like love and romance and all that stupid shit the idiot ero-cook does throwing hearts and bloody noses around? No! Absolutely not! Fuck that shit right now!

“NO! NO! IT’S THAT AMARPHALANXISH SHIT! I’M ALLERGIC TO THE COOK! I AM NOT HAVING FEELINGS FOR HIM!” Zoro shouted and stormed out of the infirmary into the galley where…..FUCK. The shit cook was sitting right there looking like he’d heard every word. The swordsman felt like ice water had just been poured down his back and he had no idea what to do.

“Don’t say shit like that where the whole ship can hear you, lawn for brains!” Sanji screamed and stood up ready for a fight. It was about damned time, although this was not how he wanted to be fighting with the dumbass eyebrows but he’d take what he could get.

“Stop listening in on confidential conversations, idiot dartbrow!” Zoro shouted and got himself into a guard position. The moron ero-cook came at him with one of those overly telegraphed high leg kicks that were far too easy to block, when the fuzzy little doctor trotted in between them and grabbed the swordsman by the injured hand.

“Zoro! Get back here! I still need to look at your hand!” Chopper said and pulled the green haired man back into the infirmary before peeking back out and telling the cook, whose leg was still high in the air, “Don’t get too comfortable, Sanji. You’re next.”

The swordsman sat back down on the infirmary bed and huffed broodily to himself several times while Chopper unwrapped the bandage from his injured hand and inspected the wound. Feelings? How could this possibly be feelings? For the shit cook? Fuck!

“Sanji did a good job with the first aid,” the little doctor said poking around the wound. “You won’t need any stitches, and with your healing rate, it should be fine tomorrow. Just no holding the weights in your hands today.”

Green haired man huffed again. What the fuck was happening?

“Zoro, we can all see how much you care for Sanji. I think if he could see it, too, you’d both be really happy,” Chopper said softly while rewrapping the injured hand.

“Not if he’s going to respond like that to the idea,” Zoro shot back, waving his hand at the door while trailing bandages that the little doctor kept trying to catch. Wait, what? When did he accept this idea? Fuck. Chopper was probably right.

“You weren’t really being Mister Genial either, Zoro,” the little reindeer said, his huge brown eyes getting imploringly soft. “You’re a really sweet guy and a good friend. Please, just think about it, and be patient with him. He’ll get it eventually.”

“Che. Only because you asked nicely,” Zoro relented, blushing all the way down to his toes. Fuck, he was a sucker for those stupid tanuki eyes that Chopper liked to pull out when he wanted something. “But don’t tell anyone.”

“Good! Now you can do me a favor. I’ve got some deep tissue cream that will help his legs heal. Can you see that he uses it?” Chopper asked while handing Zoro a jar of some blue cream. “He needs to make sure it gets rubbed in pretty deeply so that it can penetrate into the bruised tissue, especially around the areas where the bones were broken.”

“Why aren’t you giving it to him?” the swordsman asked.

“Because he won’t use it if you don’t make him,” the blue-nosed doctor said. Zoro shrugged as he took the jar and left the infirmary.

++++++++++++++++++++

Zoro had taken one of his heavier hand weights out on deck near the figurehead where Luffy was sitting. He’d rigged the weights up with some string to be able to train each of his fingers separately. Ha! Chopper couldn’t object to that as he wasn’t gripping them in his injured palm.

“Oi! Luffy!” he said as he worked the ring finger on his left hand with his palm facing the deck. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Zoro!” replied his captain while staring longingly out at the sea.

“You and Law,” said the swordsman. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Yep,” said Luffy, his open face changing to a shy sweet grin.

“How did that happen?” Zoro asked. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“I kissed Torao,” his captain said, turning over onto his stomach and swinging his feet around in circles.

“That’s it?” Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Haahahahahahaha! Nope! I kissed Torao and he got so mad he popped my heart out of my chest and tried to squish it,” his captain rolled over in giggles. “It slipped out of his hands and bounced around the room. Shishishishi. Torao was so angry!”

“WHAT!?” Zoro stopped for a moment, his killing intent rising. “HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!?”

“When Torao put it back it felt like I’d been on a roller coaster! WHOOO! The next time I kissed him, he cut my lips off and put them in his coat pocket. Torao had to give them back when I kept kissing his hand. Hahahahahahaha! Whaaaaaa……” *splash* Fuck. Luffy had giggled himself into careening right into the sea.

Zoro shook the string off his hand, dropping his weights to the deck with a loud thud, and dove in after his idiot captain, retrieving the rubber boy and pulling him back onto the ship. After coughing up quite a bit of sea water, Luffy grabbed the swordsman’s face until they were eye to eye.

“Keep being kind, Zoro,” his captain said wearing all the seriousness he could. “Sanji gives away all his kindness, and he doesn’t get much back.”

“OK, Luffy,” the swordsman said, getting that stupid squeezy feeling in his chest and pulled himself away from the rubber boy. “How did Law finally give in?”

“Torao said that he thought he’d lose me when I fought Mingo, and when we left Dressrosa, Torao kissed me back,” Luffy said quietly, and the first mate saw tears forming in his captain’s eyes. “Mingo almost killed Torao, and Torao was going to let him. Zoro. I lost Ace, I can’t lose Torao.”

Zoro pulled his captain into a fierce hug as the younger man cried. How long had Luffy been holding onto this? Dressrosa was months ago. Shit! When Robin and Usopp tried to approach with concern written on their faces, the swordsman shook his head, and they turned and stepped back away, keeping their distance but still there for support should it be needed.

“Luffy,” the first mate said. “You know Torao won’t die. Death won’t take him, he’s too sarcastic.”

His captain let out a watery giggle.

“And,” Zoro continued. “He needs to live at least long enough to see you become Pirate King.”

“Hahahahahaha! When I told Torao he would be Pirate Queen,” Luffy said, jumping back up into his full carefree cheerfulness. “Torao cut my head off and almost bounced it off the deck!”

Zoro spent the rest of the afternoon continuing to train his fingers and being animatedly regaled with the ridiculous tales of Luffy and Law’s odd courtship, which included several sea retrievals when Luffy gestured himself off the ship. It gave the swordsman a certain amount of comfort to know that his captain was cared for so deeply. And he knew that it was well within his power if Law should ever break Luffy’s heart, that Zoro could easily kill the surly doctor.

++++++++++++++++++++

It was nearing the end of the day, and Zoro still had yet to deliver the small jar of blue cream that Chopper had given him for the cook. He’d looked all over the ship, ending up in the library twice and Franky’s workshop three times before he finally found the correct door to the galley. Several of his crew appeared to be playing a game of poker, with Nami holding the most chore cards in front of her. But no stupid curlybrows.

“Join us, Zoro-san?” Robin asked, nodding toward the empty seat between herself and Nami.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m looking for the cook.”

Everyone at the table got this weird look on their faces as they caught each other’s eyes.

“Oh, are you now?” Nami asked wickedly, winking at him. Why was the witch winking at him? Nope, he didn’t want to know. “You just missed him. I think he headed for the men’s bunkroom. If you hurry, you may catch him dressing…”

Franky and Brook tittered at each other. TITTERED!

“You are all fucking idiots,” Zoro said, exiting the room as fast as he could followed by uproarious laughter from the moron peanut gallery in the galley.

He actually managed to find the men’s bunkroom on the first try and stopped short upon opening the door. Sanji was standing right there in the middle of the room, eyes wide open, curly brows heading up his forehead, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. It was…. It was…. The swordsman was never good with words, but they had left him completely this time. He felt his ears heat up and his own face flush. How? What? Why was this affecting him just now? He’d seen the cook in less. They’d lived together on this ship for a while now, and you couldn’t get away from nudity in such close quarters. He watched carefully as a faint pink tinge was slowly moving from the cook’s face down the man’s chest.

“What?” the idiot eyebrows said, the sheer distain in his voice breaking Zoro out of whatever spell the chef had cast upon him. Fucking mind wizard! The swordsman’s eye snapped back up to the cook’s face, which carried a mask of such boredom that Zoro almost yawned in response. The green haired man coughed.

“Chopper has a deep tissue healing cream he wants me to apply to your legs.” Zoro said holding up the medicine jar. And was that pink on the dartbrow’s pale skin getting darker and spreading further down the cook’s abdomen? The thought of that was doing all kinds of crazy weird things to Zoro’s insides! FUCK!

“I can do it myself. Just give me the jar,” the curly brow said snidely, holding his hand out for the jar. Fuck no. Zoro could see that the chef’s hands were still full of bruises and he knew that they had to be aching by the way the cook had been rubbing them the night before while bandaging the swordsman’s hand.

“Your hands haven’t recovered enough to get into the tissues the way Chopper wants,” the swordsman said and gestured for the cook to lie down on the couch.

“What about your hand? It’s still injured. Let one of the ladies do it,” the shit cook said. Zoro looked down at his wounded hand. Sure, the palm was still a little tender, but it was mostly healed. It should be fine. When the swordsman looked back up again, the ero-cook was noodling around with hearts flying everywhere and blood dripping from his nose. How the fuck could the crew possibly think that Zoro was having feelings for this idiot?

“You’re ridiculous,” he sneered, feeling his own eyebrows pitching themselves down into a scowl. “Have you seen your legs? They’re like fucking steel girders. The ladies don’t have enough strength either. I could get Franky to do it or you could just fucking lie down on the couch and let me do this, love cook.” Zoro watched as most of the floating hearts burst and the cook pulled out of whatever stupid fantasy had been running through his perverted mind.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” the eyebrows said and walked over to lay face down on the couch. Zoro opened up the jar releasing a small whiff of mint and menthol into the air. It smelled almost the same as the cream that Chopper had used on him after their run in with Kuma at Thriller Bark.

The swordsman dipped his hand into the jar and started applying the cream to Sanji’s legs starting at the ankle. Shit. So many bruises. They were looking much better, but they were a reminder that this time he hadn’t been able to protect the chef. He continued to methodically work the cream into the chef’s legs, ignoring the curly brow’s pained groans and expletives. Two years ago, at Thriller Bark, he’d at least been able to stop Sanji from this level of injury. But he hadn’t been there to stop the marines from starving and breaking the cook. Shit. He’d been so busy trying to keep the cook alive and bring him back to health that he hadn’t yet considered how he’d failed this man, this cherished rival. What the fuck was he doing on this ship if he couldn’t protect his nakama when they needed him? Everyone else on the ship had a job, a task. Captain, cook, navigator, shipwright, musician, doctor. Even Usopp was the best lookout they had. The swordsman was supposed to be the protector. The defender. And the bruises on the cook’s legs were a reminder of his failure in that role. All he could do now was to try to gain forgiveness by helping the man recover and heal. In spite of what Chopper was saying about his having feelings for the cook, Zoro couldn’t ask for anything for himself. He couldn’t be so selfish to expect anything in return. He was going to do what Luffy had asked. He was going to keep giving kindness to this ridiculous precious man.

He stopped when he’d covered every inch he could of the back of Sanji’s legs and noticed that his chest was getting tight and his vision was a bit blurry.

“Flip over,” he told the chef, his voice sounding a bit rough to his own ears.

As the cook turned over on the couch, their gazes caught, and the look on Sanji’s face turned his stomach. Confusion and pity. Fuck that. When the imbecile eyebrows reached up to his face, he batted the hand away with a scowl.

“Don’t pity me my feelings, idiot cook,” Zoro said narrowing his eye at Sanji. Pity. The last thing he’d ever thought he’d see on the fucking curly brow’s face. It pissed him off.

“Then stop weeping over my injuries, you big softy. You’re making me feel like a delicate damsel. I like you better when you’re a violent demonic teddy bear,” Sanji bit out with a mischievous grin on his face. An image of the ero-cook looking and behaving like one of those damsels he threw hearts and nosebleeds around for was so absolutely hilarious he wasn’t able to contain the chuckle that lurched out of him.

“Heh,” Zoro said feeling his mouth turn up slightly. “The day you turn into a delicate damsel is the day I’ll wear a tutu and join Bon Clay’s ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, moron marimo. Don’t even joke about that,” Sanji responded with a weak kick to Zoro’s chest. Why did a shade of absolute terror wash briefly over the cook’s features? “And get back to work, you’re only half done. My legs aren’t going to massage themselves.”

Zoro got back to work digging the cream into the abused muscles as best he was able, all the while participating in the verbal sniping that was typical of their interactions. He gave as good as he got and realized at one point that this back and forth barrage of insults piled upon scathing witticisms was part of the healing process for the cook. Safe. Comfortable. Normal. It was healing Sanji inside his head and heart, bringing him back to the crew. Which was what the swordsman wanted. The chef had been separated from them for too long.

When the swordsman signaled that he was finished, the cook wordlessly dressed for bed and left the room. Zoro was left alone again with his thoughts. Chopper said he is developing ‘feelings’ for the cook, which is the reason for all the weird chest squeezy heart jumpy shit. But what kind of feelings? Ever since that ritual for Kuina, he’d felt much closer to the cook. Where they becoming friends? More? What did ‘more’ mean? Affection? Attachment? Love? If the idiot ero-cook got it in his head to start directing that floaty hearts shit in Zoro’s direction, he was going to beat the man into paste. Fuck! His eyebrows were developing a severe twitch, and he hadn’t had any good time to nap today with Luffy throwing himself into the ocean every five minutes, then he’d been up on watch most of the evening. At this moment, the swordsman needed sleep more than he needed to think. Zoro picked up his night clothes from the laundry hamper and sniffed them before putting them on, then wandered down to the deck. He should probably do some laundry tomorrow.

Curly brow was in the makeshift bed tossing around restlessly. The air was getting extremely cold as they got nearer to the winter island. Zoro shivered and climbed in behind the cook and grabbed the man by the waist to pull him in and tuck his arms and legs around him, spooning him close. He congratulated himself on letting the moron dartbrow warm the bed up for him.

“Night, shit cook,” he said into the back of Sanji’s head, letting the blonde hair, which smelled of burnt tobacco, freshly mown grass, and ocean brine, caress softly over his lips. As he was drifting off, he felt the cook take a deep breath and breathe it out then push back to snuggle into the swordsman further. Zoro gripped the man tighter and let his mind wander away into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. My sinuses and lungs decided to invite some viruses in for a party, and it took over a week to evacuate them and clean up the mess. I still feel a bit like my lungs are in a gang war. But I should be back to a regular updating schedule now, hopefully. Barring any other life or health ridiculousness.


	13. Sanji begins preening his feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji has a dream, listens to a fairytale, and flirts with limited success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Foolishness and fluff and an angsty fairytale

_“Fuck! We have to go faster!” he shouted as they splashed over the rocky riverbed to the other side in order to mask their scent trail. They were running as fast as they could. Sanji could feel the swordsman next to him as they scrambled over the riverside brambles. “Give me your hand!”_

_The moron marimo placed his hand in Sanji’s, and the chef tangled their fingers together before making a leap into the air to airwalk up and over the trees lining the river’s edge, dragging the swordsman behind him.  The chef spotted a small cabin in the distance up on the next rise of the rolling hills._

_“There! We can hide in there!” he said, tugging the swordsman with him. The man’s hand felt warm in his own, and good. When they finally arrived at the door to the cabin, he didn’t want to let go. The cabin was small, built of wood and painted a vivid green. The shingling on the roof had bits of moss peeking out of it here and there, but it looked homey and the surrounding clearing appeared well kept._

_“Can I have my hand back now?” rumbled a very loud and deliciously husky earthquake. Startled, Sanji dropped the swordsman’s hand, then quickly turned and opened the cabin door into the vestibule of a grand ballroom. It was glorious! The chef could hear music playing softly from an adjoining room. The walls were all papered in softly swirling blues and greens with matching tapestries. The light fixtures and decorative handles were all a burnished gold. Sanji looked over at his companion and stopped walking as the other man continued on. The swordsman was wearing a black tuxedo with tails that hugged every inch of the man. When he turned back to the chef, Sanji gave him a full glance from the ground up. Perfectly tailored slacks, soft green cummerbund that matched Zoro’s hair into which he had slung his swords, crisp white button up shirt. The man was exquisite, until you got to his scowling face._

_“You… I… You….” the chef stammered, then gestured clumsily toward the ballroom. “Dance?”_

_The scowl on the swordsman face softened into something fondly amused. The green haired man executed a perfect bow putting his hand out to Sanji, his gaze never leaving the chef’s face. Sanji felt his face heat up, but he smiled and took the hand. Zoro pulled the chef’s hand to his lips and, after a brief kiss to Sanji’s knuckles, tucked the chef’s arm into his own then escorted Sanji into the next room. The chef felt his cheeks become incredibly warm, and his legs wobbled a little.  He caught their refection in a mirror as they were walking by it. Sanji was dressed identically to the swordsman, with the exception that his colors were the blue of the sea on a balmy afternoon. They looked good together.  Really good._

_Ingaram was standing at the door and smiled at them as they approached.  He turned to the ballroom and announced, “Maa maa maa maa… Presenting Zoro and Sanji Roronoa as they dance their first dance as a married couple!”_

_Married? MARRIED!?  Shit! Fuck! WHAT?  He could feel the swordsman pulling him into a waltz, and if he wasn’t so agitated, he might have admitted that Zoro was actually a fairly good dancer. Better than fairly, if he was honest. He could see all of their friends gathered around the dance floor, all smiling, all looking happy for them. Even Zeff raised a champagne flute toward them as they danced by._

_“Zoro, when did we get married? When? The? Fuck? Did? We? Get? Married!?” he whispered emphatically while being led gracefully around the ballroom floor, panic beginning to rise in his throat. He could feel his stomach cramping and his chest squeezing all his air out. Sanji didn’t remember the wedding. Fuck! How did he not remember something that important? SHIT!_

_“Shhhh. Calm down and go back to sleep. You’re dreaming. You’re fine. You’re safe,” he heard his marvelous earthquake say as his husband pulled him closer. His husband! FUCK! It felt right, but why couldn’t he remember getting married? The scent of spiced cocoa wafted through the ballroom, and he felt calmer, but still extremely flustered._

_“Can we go elsewhere? Sit down somewhere?” he whispered into the swordsman’s ear while trying to keep his stomach from launching an attack upon his or Zoro’s shoes. “Somewhere not here?”_

_The green haired man grabbed him by the hand and lead him out onto the veranda of a bistro overlooking a quaint village where there was a small café table and chairs for them to sit upon._

_“Hey Zoro, how is he doing?” Chopper said as he came through the veranda door wearing a waiter’s uniform and carrying water glasses, which he placed in front of the swordsman and the chef. Sanji picked up the menu and perused it for a while._

_“I’ll have the spiced cocoa and a tray of the gingersnaps. Zoro, what would you like?” the chef asked while entangling his fingers with the swordsman’s across the table._

_“I’ll have whatever,” his delicious earthquake said quietly into his ear, then a little louder said, “He’s chatty in his sleep today. First night he hasn’t had nightmares since we got him back, so that’s good. I want to let him sleep. Can you stay with him while I make breakfast for everyone?”_

_“Sure! Did he get the cream on his legs OK?” Chopper asked while climbing into Sanji’s lap. The cook grabbed onto the little reindeer and snuggled him close._

_“Hey buddy,” Sanji said as he put his face into the fluffy doctor’s neck._

_“Yeah, and he bitched and moaned during every second of it,” the cook heard his earthquake say with a chuckle and Sanji suddenly felt colder. “I’ll come wake you both up when breakfast is ready.”_

_The chef felt himself getting pulled further under the dreams back into full restful sleep._

++++++++++++++++++++

“Sanji stop, that tickles,” the cook heard a high breathy giggle as he came awake and felt a furry wiggle in his arms.

“Chopper?” Sanji asked with a mouth full of soft fur. “Ptu! ACK! What are you doing here?”

He pulled the little reindeer away and looked the fuzzy doctor in the eye.

“Zoro said to let you sleep, but he didn’t want to leave you alone,” Chopper said with a small chuckle that turned into a full wiggly laugh. “Sanji, stop squeezing my ribs, it tickles.”

“Oh, it does, does it?” the cook plastered an evil grin on his face, and proceeded to dig into the blue-nosed doctor’s ribs to the effect of much more wiggling and giggles.

“STOP! SANJI! STOP!” Chopper squeaked out amidst gales of laughter.

 Contented with starting the day with happiness in the air, Sanji had mercy on the little reindeer and let him go.

“Thanks Chopper. I’ll go get breakfast started,” the cook said, grinning as he detangled himself from the blankets and began making his way to the galley.

“Oh, Sanji! Oh, wait!” Chopper said and grabbed onto Sanji’s hand attempting to slow him down. “Wait! Don’t go into the galley! WAIT!”

“Chopper….  Why are you trying to keep me out of the galley?” the cook asked threateningly while continuing on his way, dragging the doctor behind him.

“Stop! Sanji! He said he wanted you to sleep since you weren’t getting much!” Chopper cried with tears streaming down his furry face. “Please don’t hurt him! He was only trying to help!”

Sanji stopped before the galley door, his stomach getting those shitty butterflies again at thoughts of Zoro’s care, and he shook his hand loose from the doctor’s hooves, while pinning Chopper in place with a glare. He opened the door slowly and entered the room as quietly as he could, leaving the weeping reindeer outside. He closed and locked the door, then leaned against the doorway and watched the green haired moron for a while.  The shit swordsman was obviously familiar with the kitchen, but not a seasoned chef by any stretch. He hadn’t quite learned some of the efficiencies a more experienced cook would know. However, Sanji could tell that Zoro was treating his kitchen with a great deal of care and reverence.  The marimo was moving with concentration back and forth between some pans on the stove that appeared to contain scrambled eggs and the toaster which had just popped up the toast. Everything smelled pretty good. The chef could see several covered bowls and platters on the serving counter and estimated that idiot moss for brains was probably almost finished.

“You need help with anything, marimo?” Sanji asked quietly. He watched Zoro’s shoulders tighten then relax as a short huff left the swordsman’s mouth.

“Table setting,” said the marimo while continuing to cook. Sanji came around the counter and began pulling the tableware out of cupboards, perhaps leaning a little more closely to Zoro than was absolutely necessary.

“Smells good,” he said with fondness into Zoro’s ear and heard the clatter of a spatula being dropped and a couple lowly muttered curses and smiled to himself. Goodness, this man. He’d made his decision last night to woo the swordsman, but the divide between planning and execution was going to be pretty huge, apparently not as huge as he’d imagined, though. He moved into the dining room to place plates, bowls, drinking cups and silverware around the dining tables and asked, “Should I get the drinks ready also?”

“Sure,” muttered Zoro as he picked up the spatula and dropped it into the sink. Sanji pulled out another platter and set it next to the stove for the eggs, onto which Zoro dumped the contents of the frying pans. “Cook, what are you doing?”

“Helping you with breakfast, moron,” the cook said pulling juices and milk out of the refrigerator and placing them around the tables while flashing Zoro his brightest smile.  He then pulled down a couple mugs and the sugar and creamer set, along with a box of teabags as Zoro set a kettle heating on the stove. “What does it look like?”

They moved together with an eerie synchronicity for several minutes getting breakfast on the tables, pouring coffee into a carafe, placing the tea service near Robin’s place and putting together all the finishing touches for the rest of the crew. It was amazing. Working together like this had the same feel as the fluidity of the forms they had done for Kuina. When everything was ready, Sanji leaned next to the swordsman and put his hand gently on Zoro’s lower back saying, “I’ll go let them know it’s ready, marimo. Thank you for cooking.”

With that, the cook left the galley and sweetly asked the ladies if they were ready for breakfast, then hollered for the rest of the assholes to come and get it while hugging a still weeping Chopper who’d remained standing just outside the galley door.

The potatoes could have used a bit more salt, and the eggs were a bit overcooked, for which Sanji could probably blame himself for distracting the marimo, but all in all it was a pretty decent if simple breakfast. Lively as always. He’d caught the lovely Nami-swan and the cowardly sniper stealing glances when each thought the other wasn’t looking. And Luffy had earnestly attempted to follow Zoro’s kitchen rules, mostly succeeding. It was clear that the swordsman had been doing his best to take care of the crew while Sanji had been missing, and the cook was finding himself falling deeper and deeper into gratitude every time he thought about it.  He had tried observing the swordsman through the meal, but the green haired idiot had behaved like always, guarding his breakfast warily all the while shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could.

At the moment, the green haired neanderthal was sound asleep with his head pillowed on his arm resting on the table. The stupid shit hadn’t been getting nearly enough sleep taking care of the cook, and Sanji was becoming more and more aware of the sacrifices Zoro had been making to bring him back to the crew.  The chef sat down carefully next to the swordsman and leaned over to watch the man sleep for a few moments. He stretched his hand out over the sleeping man’s head, letting his fingers come close but not touching the green hair. How did the cook ever deserve this kind of devotion? This fucking beautiful man. Sanji felt his heart and chest fill and stretch out beyond his body. Fuck. This was what truly falling must feel like. He got back up from the dining table and found some paper and a pen. 

He wrote, “Thank you for breakfast, marimo.” Followed by a heart, and a second heart, and a third heart. Was that too many? Not enough? Fuck! He knew how to do this for a woman, but how did he go about this with Zoro? Shit! He added a fourth heart then folded the note up and left it where Zoro would find it.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Sanji-san, how is your handsome sleeping swordsman?” beautiful Robin-chwan asked as the cook handed her a mug of mulled cider. He’d spent most of the morning out on deck serving the crew hot drinks and making sure everyone had blankets and was warm enough. Nami-swan said they should be docking at a winter island sometime in the next few hours according to how the log-pose was behaving.

“Eh? Er…he’s fine, my dearest. Swamp head is still completely out. Hasn’t moved. And he’s not mine…. ” Sanji stammered with a bashful blush and sat down in the deck chair next to her.

“It’s good he’s getting some sleep finally,” his radiant beauty commented. “It’s been some time since he’s been on his regular napping schedule. Weeks.”

“Here’s hoping he’s back to it soon, my darling,” the cook said and clinked his own cider mug together with hers.

“If he doesn’t, he’ll probably go insane from sleep deprivation,” his raven-haired angel said into her mug. Was she smiling? His beatific Robin-chwan always knew more than she was telling, it was one of the most fascinating things about her. What did she know?

“LAND HO!” Usopp’s voice rang out over the intercom. “LAND HO!”

Sanji stood up and took his brilliant Robin-chwan’s hand in his, placing a brief kiss on her knuckles.

“I believe that’s my cue to get my shopping list together, my angel,” he said.

The cook walked up toward the galley in time to see the shit swordsman coming out. The moss head’s face was a little bit red, and he was clutching a piece of paper in his hand. He took one look at the cook and sputtered out, “Erg? Um…. Heading… um.. to stations…” Then Zoro took off rapidly toward the stern turned around and headed up the ladder to the crow’s nest.

The cook smiled a little giddily and made his way into the galley.  He walked around into the kitchen to get his shopping notebook and saw a piece of paper resting on the counter.  Opening it up, it read,

_You’re welcome. Don’t make it a habit._

_X_

Don’t make it a habit? THAT FUCKING FUCKER! Sanji was going to kick his ass up one side of the ship and down the other for that. It’s not like he wanted to keep having these nightmares and panic attacks. And what was that at the end? Was that supposed to be a signature?  Or sword slashes? What the fuck? Or… Or… wait. Was that a kiss? The chef felt his throat drop down to the floor and a few floaty hearts swooped out of his eyes and swam around the room. Zoro had left him a kiss! That shitty lovely man! He noodled his way back over to his cookbook shelf and pulled out the notebook that contained all the crews’ preferences. He wanted….no, he NEEDED to make something special for the swordsman!

Perusing through his notes about the swordsman’s tastes was a study in irritation. ‘He might like stir-fried fish and rice, maybe?’ or ‘He went for thirds of the sandwiches, does he like them or was he just hungry?’ or ‘Today he seemed to put slightly more effort into fighting off Luffy for the onigiri, is that a preference?’ and so on and so on and so on.  The shitty swordsman was fucking frustrating as hell. Always ate whatever was put in front of him, most times multiple servings when allowed to by Luffy. Showed barely discernable to no preferences whatsoever for anything he ate. It was like the idiot marimo didn’t care about taste or enjoyment. The biggest contradiction was that the couple of breakfasts and the shitty egg sandwiches that Zoro had made and the cook had eaten weren’t actually as terrible as he would have suspected. In fact, they were quite good and had been made with a great deal of care. Inexperienced care, but care none the less.  Shit.  The only thing Sanji knew with complete certainty was that Zoro was not fond of sweets. What the fuck should he plan for if he wanted to make the swamp for brains something special? 

He didn’t have a lot of time to waste on this.  The cook threw the notebook down while releasing a sound of disgust. Fuck. He grabbed the shopping list and made a few additions to it before heading into the pantry to finalize it. He’d worry about this shit later.

++++++++++++++++++++

They were probably just over an hour out from the winter island docks and most of the crew was standing around on deck bundled up in their heaviest winter gear. The ladies looked lovely as always, and Sanji made sure to effusively compliment both of them as he noodled past.

Stopping next to Zoro, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, then asked, “What kinds of things do you like to eat, shithead?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” the moron marimo responded, his eyebrows drawn down into what the chef could only assume was a scowl hidden behind the green fluffy scarf that Franky had knit for the man.

“An easy one to answer, lawn skull. Well?” Sanji said breathing out a puff of smoke.

“I don’t know. Food?” the green haired man said, his scowl growing deeper.

“What kind of food, idiot?” the chef asked.

“Edible food?” the asshat said.

Sanji glared at him while taking a large drag of his cigarette. How difficult was it to say what kind of food preferences someone had? This was fucking ridiculous!

“What’s with the question, shit cook? You’ve never asked before. You cook, I eat. It’s that simple,” the shit swordsman said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Fucking pick something, shithead!” Sanji shouted.

“You’re the cook, you pick something!” Zoro yelled back and Sanji threw a kick to the swordsman’s chest which began a quick scuffle of swords and feet up and down the deck before Zoro disengaged and stalked off in a huff.

“SHIT!” the chef shouted and kicked the railing, knocking a good chunk of it into the water.

He heard angry shouts of “SANJI!” and “SANJI-KUN!” from Franky and Nami-swan as he stormed back into the galley and slammed the door. The idiot wanted him to pick something? Fine, he was going to fucking pick something and that shitty bastard was going to damned well love it.  Sanji pulled several cookbooks from the shelves and threw them aggressively on the counter then headed into the storage room for the stock ledger. He angrily put together a delicious menu that showed off most of his best techniques and flavors given the stock and staples currently on hand. The theme was going to revolve around comfort foods: miso soup, onigiri, okonomiyaki, nabe, okayu, and takoyaki to start. For dessert… What the fuck should he do for dessert? The marimo didn’t like sweet things. Before he could decide, Usopp walked into the galley.

“Oh, Sanji, hi,” the long-nosed man said. “I-I-I’m just getting water.”

“Usopp,” the chef said, putting on all his charm, realizing that he’d been thinking far too much about Zoro, and knew that this was going to be the perfect distraction. “Sit down! I have something to ask you.”

“Um…” said Usopp, sitting down where Sanji directed.  “Sure?”

“I would like to hear an epic story of the high seas adventure where the Brave Warrior of the Sea falls in love with the Angelic Navigator,” Sanji said sweetly, putting some more cocoa on the stove to heat and arranging a small plate of cookies.

“P-p-please don’t kill me,” the sniper said, his whole body jittering violently.

“Just tell me the damned story,” the blonde-haired man said while gritting his teeth into more of a grimace than a smile as he stirred the cocoa. He needed to know how his beautiful Nami-swan had forsaken him for their cowardly sharp shooter.

“W-w-well, if you promise you won’t kill me,” the black-haired man said and the chef could see him grabbing pieces of his courage, throwing his shoulders back and puffing his chest out a bit. “The story actually begins with two star-crossed lovers. The Mighty Swordsman and the Gourmet Prince had begun as enemies but had fallen in love.  However, the Prince was one day lost at sea, all but breaking the Swordsman’s spirit. As the Swordsman was determined to find his lost Prince, the Brave Warrior of the Sea and the Angelic Navigator offered to help the Swordsman in his quest. The three of them fought many foes and encountered many monsters as they searched the seas near and far for the Prince. The Swordsman grew in melancholy the longer the Prince had been missing, feeling such despair that he shattered everything that could remind him of his lost love.”

“What?” Sanji said with a low growl, interrupting the tale and placing a mug of cocoa and the cookie plate in front of the sniper. “What did that marimo asshole break?”

“N-n-nothing….” Usopp said cowering behind his cocoa mug. “The dining room needed remodeling anyway. Should I keep going? I can stop now if you want.”

The chef just waved his hand, holding back his anger until it could have the proper outlet. It wasn’t Usopp’s fault that the shitty marimo couldn’t control his temper.

The long-nosed story teller continued, “The Angelic Navigator and Brave Warrior had taken it upon themselves to try to cheer the Swordsman by distracting him with a series of tasks. The first task was to rebuild all that had been broken. The second task had been to prepare meals for the Gluttonous Monkey every day.  The third task was to count all the beans in a closet, because all good stories need some bean counting.”

“Ah, that explains the beans record in the ledger,” Sanji muttered, only to be quieted by a disdainful look from Usopp as the story continued.

“As the Swordsman was going about these tasks, the Brave Warrior and the Angelic Navigator had begun to realize that their own feelings towards each other had grown past friendship into something beautiful and fragile. But they had decided they couldn’t act on their newfound love until their friend, the Swordsman, had his own love returned to him. One day, once all the tasks had been completed, the Swordsman had found the Gourmet Prince in the dungeon of the castle in a foreign kingdom and all three of them risked everything to rescue the Prince and bring him home.

“But once the Prince was home, it was found that he had fallen into a magical sleep from which he could not awaken. The Swordsman brought him to a Healer, but the Healer could not wake him. Then the Swordsman brought him to a Death Magician, but the Magician could not wake him.  Even as his heart was breaking, the Swordsman was dedicated to his Prince in his care, feeding him, bathing him, holding him close and protecting him, showing the Prince his love through all of his actions every day, but the Prince would still not wake. 

“The beautiful Angelic Navigator had an idea about what needed to be done, but instead of asking the Swordsman to do it, she took it upon herself because the Swordsman had already given so much. She knew that only a kiss would awaken the Prince, and even though she did not love the Prince she thought she was being kind and she bent down and kissed him anyway.”

“WHAT!? NAMI-SWAN KISSED ME!? SHE MUST LOVE ME!” Sanji cried and began to noodle around the dining room, floaty hearts flying every which way. “I MUST GO AND TELL HER THAT HER LOVE IS RETURNED!”

“SANJI!” Usopp shouted with an authority the chef had never heard before. “Sit down! You need to hear the rest. Her only thought was to wake the Prince so he could reunite with the Swordsman, but she had forgotten the Brave Warrior’s love for her. After the kiss, the Swordsman’s heart was broken completely as well as the Brave Warrior’s. In his grief, the Swordsman argued with the Angelic Navigator, because he knew she did not love the Prince. And while the Angelic Navigator and the Swordsman argued over the kiss, the Gourmet Prince awakened to everyone’s joy.  The Swordsman, even with his heart in tatters, was still determined to love the Prince with everything he had. And the Brave Warrior of the Sea still loved the Angelic Navigator. Both the Brave Warrior and the Swordsman continued to be devoted to their loves as they waited in ever dwindling hope for that love to be returned.”

“That is not a happy ending, Usopp.” Sanji said seriously.

“No, it is not,” the sniper said despondently, and he got up and left the galley.

Well, fuck. The chef pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Shit. What was he supposed to do now? He was pissed that Zoro had demolished the dining area, but he couldn’t deny that the new design was far better. And he knew from Robin’s tale of his time away that the swordsman had been tireless in trying to find him, and even more tireless in trying to help him recover. But Nami-swan had kissed him! It was like all his fantasies coming true! Just the thought of it was making him a little giddy even though he didn’t remember that kiss at all. He knew deep down that being with Nami-swan was only ever a far-flung fantasy, regardless of how much he had wanted it. The gazes the beautiful navigator sent to the sniper when the long-nosed man wasn’t looking made her affections abundantly clear to everyone except Usopp.  However, it was a hope he’d held for so long that the dying of it was slow and painful.  Was that how the rest of the crew saw the idiot marimo and himself? Cluelessly dancing around each other hoping to be noticed but not wanting to take that step?

He put his head into his hands and looked down at the open notebook. Fuck again. He’d been working on that menu for Zoro, and now he felt like a complete ass that he’d gotten all spun up over the amazing Nami-swan yet again. It wasn’t fair to Zoro, the swordman deserved better than that for all that he was still a moron. What the fuck was he going to do?

Sanji heard cries of, “ALL HANDS ON DECK FOR DOCKING!” coming from outside the galley and huffed to himself for a bit while putting the cookbooks and ledger away before heading to his docking station.

Docking went as it usually did, a mindless bit of organized chaos while everyone battened everything, and the dockhands threw them ropes which they used to secure the ship to the docks. It gave him a chance to empty his head for a while to consider what he wanted. The chef had thought he wanted the romantic package: marriage, kids, etc. But the debacle on Whole Cake island had disabused him of that idea. What was the point in that bond if there wasn’t true affection between the couple? Could he have that with the swordsman? What little of the dream he’d remembered from the night before and the various subtle and not so subtle hints his crewmates had dropped had him believing that yes, he most likely could, if he could convince the swampy bastard of that.  But did the chef want that? He might. He’d never know for sure unless he tried.  Sanji finished tying off the securing ropes and headed down to the deck where the rest of the crew were gathering.

The town was quaint bordering on adorable. It had the appearance of one of the spice cookie villages that Sanji would create when he felt particularly festive. Wood walls, scalloped trim, gently arched doors, happy people milling around in the streets and avenues, and a dusting of snow covering everything and still falling. As fucking cold as it was, the cook always found the hush of falling snow very appealing. The way the large flakes would mute out some of the harsher noises of the village always settled Sanji’s mind into a sense of peace and calm tranquility. He watched as Zoro came down from the crow’s nest and felt something click into place within himself. He was going to allow himself to fall deeply and irrevocably. No more second guessing or looking for greener grass, because there honestly was no greener grass anywhere than on that marimo’s skull.

Once the Sunny was secured to the dock, the perfection personified Nami-swan began to hand out their shore-side assignments. “Franky and Jinbe, see if you can find a small shipyard or boatyard to get replacements parts for those that were needed when Zoro broke the ship,” she said.

“Fucking witch,” the swordsman responded.

“Don’t call the loveliest lady around a witch, you bastard” Sanji said while he half-heartedly kicked the idiot lawn for brains in the shin for form’s sake. It wouldn’t do to depart too much from their usual interactions. Not yet anyway. He’d have to ease the swordsman into it, slowly.

“Brook and Ussop will stay behind on the Sunny and watch the ship. Robin, Chopper, and I are going to look for some medicinal herbs and other sundries. Sanji and Zoro, see if you can find a market or grocery to get the ship’s stores restocked.”

“Yes, Nami-swan!” the chef noodled around.

“Che,” Zoro scoffed.

The chef could feel his grin growing wider when he looked over to see the shit swordsman huddling even deeper into the green scarf that covered his head.  As they walked down the docks toward the center of the town, Sanji decided that he was going to try something a little different.  He was, after all, trying to engage the interest of the swordsman, not irritate him. But it was so difficult not to fall back into those familiar patterns. 

“The Lure of Little Touches” is what he had called this flirtation technique. No single touch can last longer than one second, extremities only and he could not touch more than once every fifteen seconds.  The touches are only supposed to be quick simple reminders that he was physically there.  Sanji was ruthless in his practice as he and Zoro wandered the little village stores looking for the items on the shopping list.  The brief touch of a finger to the swordsman’s exposed wrist between coat sleeve and mitten.  The quick squeeze to Zoro’s elbow to guide the marimo’s turn from wrong to correct. The gentlest caress of upper arm when loading the swordsman up with yet another heavy package. Ugh! This was becoming decidedly difficult. How the fuck was he supposed to execute his plan for the little touches when the swordsman was bundled head to toe against the cold. Through all that fluff and batting, the green-haired man probably couldn’t feel anything more gentle than a punch.  Shit!  And it wasn’t like Sanji could keep his own fingers out of his mittens and pockets for long. Fuck this shitty cold winter island trying to ruin all his plans. The chef pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one while he stopped for a moment in the street, trying to figure out how he needed to proceed from here if he was going to keep pressing forward with his plan for the swordsman.

“Why are we stopping, curly brow?” the shithead asked while standing next to him. Sanji had to chuckle to himself a little. He’d stacked up so many boxes and bags onto the marimo that the man looked like a walking fortress of packaging.

“Just having a quick smoke, moron. Can’t a man have…” Sanji stopped short as he felt a very familiar presence enter within range of his haki. How had that fucking vice admiral found him? He’d been assured by his whole crew that he was safe now that they’d gotten him out! How was the marine still alive, let alone here!?

“Shit cook?” the swordsman asked, concern peppering his voice.

“The marines are here!” Sanji hissed frantically as his legs lost their strength.  He crumpled to the ground in front of the bakery which was to be their next stop. His chest tightened as all his air seemed to leave him at once, and wave after wave of sickening crawling warmth kept crashing from his heart outward.

“No. No no no no no no no,” he heard himself murmuring breathlessly as his air continued to leave until there wasn’t any breath left and only his mouth carried on the mantra. He heard a loud tumble of boxes falling to the ground and his name being shouted nearby, but he couldn’t stay here. He needed to move, to get away. His legs wouldn’t carry him so he scrambled with his hands and elbows, snaking himself toward the dark alley that opened nearby, shredding his mittens and scraping his palms bloody.  There were some bins. He could hide behind those. If he made himself small enough, they would stop looking for him. Sanji could hear the static hush of the ocean getting louder in his ears as blackness began to grasp at the edges of his vision, and soon he felt the blanket of darkness wrap him up and lull him into quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh my goodness. Thank you to everyone for your patience. So many things have happened that delayed this chapter. First being how life sometimes imitates art. A couple days after I posted the last chapter, I cut my index finger with a kitchen knife while cleaning it and ended up having to get stitches. Because I don’t heal nearly as fast as Zoro, it was two weeks before the stitches came out and I had my finger back, and another two weeks after that before I could type without much pain. Then one of our dear kitties got sick earlier this month and passed away last week. With all this, I haven’t been in a great headspace to write with any regularity. However, I am not giving up on this story. And I am determined to keep moving forward with it, but probably not on as aggressive a schedule as I have been. On a side note, the “what do you want to eat?” “I dunno, food.” conversation between Sanji and Zoro regularly happens in my household, only with significantly less argument and scuffling, so I had to include it.


	14. Zoro gets angry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro analyzes his feelings and gets angry at Sanji's antics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, pining, panic attack, fluffy idiocy

“Fuck! We have to go faster! Give me your hand!” the cook muttered while grabbing the swordsman’s hand in a tight grip, jolting the swordsman awake. Shit. Zoro had been sleeping so soundly for once. As he opened his eye, he could see that the sky was beginning to lighten to an uncomfortable gray, and snow was drifting slowly down around them on the deck. The swordsman didn’t want to move. In spite of the frigid air, he felt warm and snug tucked deep under the covers with the cook. He smiled at the sleeping, slightly drooling face that was facing him on the pillow, and his chest threw off a little flutter. The shit chef had managed to sleep the whole night without waking. About fucking time! The swordsman couldn’t stop his free hand from snaking up and rubbing a thumb over the curl of the chef’s visible eyebrow.  How in the hell did the drooling dartbrow get his hair to cover one side of his face even in his sleep?

“There! We can hide in there!” the chef slurred while tugging gently on the swordsman’s hand. Whatever the shit cook was dreaming, it was far better than the nightmares the man had been having.

Deciding to play along, Zoro responded, his voice a little more sleep husky than he’d like, “Can I have my hand back now?”

He started a bit when Sanji’s eyes popped open and seemed to bore into him, but the blonde man let go of his hand. Zoro couldn’t quite tell if the chef was actually awake or having one of his talking-walking dreams.  In the grim dawn light, curlybrow’s eyes were the color of the sky after a storm, and Zoro’s chest started getting that squeezy feeling again. His thumb was still stroking the chef’s eyebrow and had turned to gently cup the sleeping chef’s cheek.  It wouldn’t take much to just lean in and… and…  Shit! Zoro pulled his hand away from Sanji’s face. He needed to get this under control. He was the master of his own body, and these involuntary reactions were becoming concerning. Fucking mind wizard, even in his sleep!  And fuck it all if he was ever going to try to do…whatever it was his lips were leaning in to do…when he wasn’t completely certain if the chef was awake or not.

“You… I… You…. Dance?” the chef stammered, and the swordsman felt his heart speed up as he watched a lovely shy blush blossom across the blonde man’s cheeks. Sanji hummed a lilting tune and moved closer pulling Zoro into his arms. The swordsman felt a horrible disappointment spool in his gut and wash across his skin. The romantic moron was probably dreaming of dancing with some beautiful woman. Why the fuck did it matter to him who the idiot love cook was dreaming of? It didn’t, nope, not one bit. Shit. He put his arms around Sanji’s back once the chef seemed settled knowing that this was probably the only way this kind of closeness would ever be allowed by the woman loving cook.

“Zoro,” the sleeping chef whispered into the swordsman’s ear, and Zoro felt the moment the shit cook’s dream had changed. Sanji’s body, which had been so relaxed and comfortable, was suddenly stiff and agitated. The swordsman knew what would happen next if he couldn’t get Sanji to calm again. Then the chef said words that caused an eruption of dread and anxiety and some ridiculous giddy twisting in his own stomach. “When did we get married? When? The? Fuck? Did? We? Get? Married!?”

WHAT THE FUCK?....WHAT? Shit! There was no time to think about Sanji dreaming of the two of them being married. Zoro could feel by the sudden tenseness of the cook’s body that the dream was about to turn into nightmare. If he wasn’t so busy trying to care for the asshole, the swordsman might be offended that being married to him was a panic inducing state for the shitty cook. Sanji’s breathing was becoming more thready and rushed as his body became stiffer and more agitated.

“Shhhh. Calm down and go back to sleep,” the swordsman said, his voice still gruff from sleep. He pulled the chef closer and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down the blonde man’s back waiting for the panicking man to calm down.  Fuck. Zoro felt a sinking emptiness creeping into his chest and held the chef a little closer. The stupid eyebrows had been doing so well.  “You’re dreaming. You’re fine. You’re safe.”

“Can we go elsewhere? Sit down somewhere?” Sanji whispered into Zoro’s ear and leaned back to grab the swordsman’s hand again. “Somewhere not here?”

This was good, the shit cook’s body seemed to be relaxing again. Zoro began to doze off again when he heard Chopper’s distinctive footsteps approaching.

“Hey Zoro, how is he doing?” the little doctor said as he peered over the green haired man to look at Sanji.

“I’ll have the spiced cocoa and a tray of the gingersnaps. Zoro, what would you like?” the chef sleepily piped in while entangling his fingers with the swordsman’s and smiling like the sunrise.   Zoro’s heart started to jitter and his stomach dropped like that moment when they’d just launched from Skypea. What the fuck was going on with him and his reactions to the idiot love cook? He needed to get this under control soon. 

Leaning in close to Sanji’s ear, he muttered, “I’ll have whatever.” Then he pulled back and looked at Chopper, who was standing eagerly nearby with a weirdly soft grin on his fuzzy face.  “He’s chatty in his sleep today. First night he hasn’t had nightmares since we got him back, so that’s good. I want to let him sleep. Can you stay with him while I make breakfast for everyone?”

“Sure! Did he get the cream on his legs OK?” Chopper asked as Zoro began to gently detangle himself from the sleeping man.

He looked down fondly on the two of them as Sanji grabbed the blue nosed reindeer and snuggled him close while muttering something into Chopper’s fur.

“Yeah,” Zoro replied to the small doctor’s question, “and he bitched and snarled during every second of it. I’ll come wake you both up when breakfast is ready.”

He ambled happily to the galley via the girls’ bedroom and Franky’s workshop, and didn’t even mind that someone had played with the soldier docking system again.

++++++++++++++++++++

The swordsman had prepared all the meats and was concentrating so completely on finishing up the scrambled eggs that he didn’t hear the door open, nor notice the presence in the galley until Sanji’s voice snuck quietly through the room, “You need help with anything, marimo?”

SHITTY SHIT! He felt for a moment like he’d been caught stealing onigiri from Koushirou’s kitchen table and guilt almost compelled him to apologize to the shit cook for invading his territory.  Well, if he was going to die, he might as well get breakfast on the table before it happened, and service always did go better with help while the cook had been gone.

“Table setting,” he huffed out, and scowled down at the eggs, which just needed a few more seconds. He stiffened as the chef leaned deeply into his back while pulling plates and drinking glasses from the cupboard.  His stomach was jumping up and down while his chest just about fluttered itself into the frying pan. What game was this that the fucking moron was playing?

“Smells good,” the chef said with a low husky voice directly into his ear. He jolted so hard in response that he dropped the spatula. He recognized that voice! That was the voice that Sanji used on women while dancing in the dark corners of taverns. Not that it has ever succeeded, but why was he using it now? Was it deliberate? Was it a joke? Was the womanizing chef actually being serious and flirting with him? How the fuck was he supposed to be able to tell?  What the fuck was going on?  Zoro felt as the cook’s warmth left his back and heard Sanji ask, “Should I get the drinks ready also?”

“Sure,” was the swordsman’s short reply as he picked up the spatula and dropped it into the sink. He once again felt the warm body of the cook lean into his side as Sanji pulled out another platter and set it next to the stove while looking at the pan of eggs.  This was getting insufferably weird.  The only times he and the chef got this physically close was when they were fighting or when Zoro had been taking care of the man while he’d been injured.  But now it seemed deliberate.  Was the chef looking for a fight? The swordsman would be happy to give him one. Was he looking for something else? What the fuck was going on?

Never one to shy away from difficult questions, Zoro dumped the contents of the frying pans, then turned to the blonde man and asked, “Cook, what are you doing?”

“Helping you with breakfast, moron,” the shit cook said while twirling away. He pulled drinks out of the refrigerator before placing them around the tables while flashing Zoro a smile that would have lit up the darkest night.  The swordsman would swear that his heart DID NOT STOP for just a moment. Nope, fuck, that did not happen.  He turned from the cook then put a kettle on while Sanji pulled down all the stuff for the tea that Robin liked to drink. “What does it look like?”

Zoro began to get that same contented feeling he’d gotten when they’d performed the ritual forms for Kuina. It was odd, this new conversation.  It wasn’t the swords and shoes of their usual dialog, but a coordination of service and care for the crew. This was Sanji’s language, and the swordsman had begun to understand it while the cook had been gone. The swordsman watched the cook closely as they placed all the food out with the finishing touches of the breakfast that Zoro had cooked, and his heart was beating rapidly in his chest as if they were in the midst of a particularly exhilarating fight. It was overwhelming and powerful and he didn’t want this feeling, this moment, this connection with the surly eyebrows, to end.  But all to soon, everything had been laid out, and he felt the cook’s warm hand against his lower back and shivered as Sanji said huskily into his ear, “I’ll go let them know it’s ready, marimo. Thank you for cooking.”

It was all he could do to prevent his hand from grabbing the cook and pulling him back into an embrace as the blonde twilled away out the door to call for his precious angels, Nami-swan and Robin-chwan, to come eat. Hearing all the fawning over the girls had his stomach tightening, and he wasn’t feeling as hungry as he had been earlier. This time that he’d spent caring for the shitty cook was coming to an end, and he knew as the chef began to finally recover, that things were probably going to go back to the way they had been. Unfortunately, Zoro was fast becoming aware of how his heart connected to Sanji’s, and he knew he was going to have to learn to overcome this new grief as the man went back to swooning over every woman alive.  He felt his chest fall into a hollow ache at the thought of it.

The swordsman sat down in his place at the dining table with a huff as the rest of the crew filtered into the room. Chopper looked like he’d been crying, but seemed cheerful enough, so Zoro left it alone. Usopp and Nami were still circling around each other.  And Luffy attempted to grab one of Zoro’s sausages, after which the swordsman spent most of the rest of the breakfast eating as quickly as possible. He leaned back once his plate was cleaned, with his captain’s unasked for help he was sure, and spent a while observing the chef as the blonde man continued to serve the crew. At some point, the lull of the breakfast chaos washed over him and dragged him under into sleep.

++++++++++++++++++

Zoro was pissed. Almost livid beyond pissed. His killing intent had not yet started manifesting, but it was definitely on the cusp. One more shitty thing and he was going to slash someone into itty bitty pieces and dance happily on their entrails. Most likely that someone was going to be the curlybrowed asshole that was swaggering directly in front of him. Fuck Nami and her witchy ways! Fuck this town and all the pretty shopkeepers!  Fuck all the packages that he was carrying!  And most of all, fuck the shit cook for playing with him and fuck the rest of the crew for going along with this shitty joke!

First it was that shitty note Zoro had awakened to find sitting on the dining table next to his nose.  He’d been rubbing the crick from his neck as he read it. “Thank you for breakfast, marimo,” it had said, followed by a string of hearts that look like they’d been dropped there directly from the love cook’s eyes.  The swordsman hadn’t been sure what to make of it. Was it a joke? What was the shitty blonde playing at leaving all those hearts laying around like Zoro was a woman? It had to be a joke.  Somehow the idiot had figured out Zoro’s deeper attachment and was making fun of him. That was the only explanation. And fuck if that thought didn’t just spear some agony right through his chest. It was a shitty thing to do to nakama when real feelings were involved, not that there were real feelings, no, just no. But he’d thought better of his fucking crew and of the fucking moron dartbrow.

He’d managed to write a short response and had only just managed the first two strokes of the swordsman kanji before Usopp had called land-ho and Zoro had had to rush to his station, almost running into the smiling idiot chef as he’d rushed out of the galley to his post. That smile had confirmed that the shit cook had thought it was a good joke.  Fuck. He’d spent the next hour at his station stewing in his own anger and had to remind himself several times not to break any more of the ship.

Then there had been that stupid fight over food. Zoro had bundled up for the cold in his long coat and the nice green scarf that Franky had knit for him and had been waiting on deck while they sailed toward the winter island when the asshole cook had come out of the galley and badgered him about his favorite foods.  The shit cook had never asked his opinion before and the swordsman was angry that he’d been asked to choose.  Everything Sanji made was his favorite. What was so hard to figure out about that? It had taken everything in him to pull back from the ensuing scuffle and walk away before he’d thrown the shit cook overboard. Luffy would have been upset, and as much as he despised the idiot curlybrow at the moment, he didn’t want the man to die of hypothermia….. yet.

After that, he’d been walking around the deck trying to find the bathhouse to clean up after his workout. Why the fuck couldn’t the whole shitty crew just leave the damned docking controls alone so people could get around the ship? Zoro had been passing the galley when he heard the cook shout out, “WHAT!? NAMI-SWAN KISSED ME!? SHE MUST LOVE ME! I MUST GO AND TELL HER THAT HER LOVE IS RETURNED!” followed by a series of floating hearts that pushed their way under the door. Zoro felt like he’d been doused in tar and set on fire then smothered in ice water. It was like someone had filled his guts with rocks and snakes, then carved out the center of his chest and threw it into Usopp’s slingshot and sent it into the sea. Fuck. The shit cook was returning to normal, and this was what normal looked like. How could the swordsman even be surprised? He shouldn’t be. He knew who the idiot was and what he was like. Fuck. Just like any other hurdle in his life, Zoro would overcome these feelings as well.  He had to, for his own sanity and goals. There was no choice.

Zoro had stopped paying attention to anything Sanji did by the time the ship docked at the winter island.  He’d thrown himself into the work of docking and refused to let any thoughts of the shit cook cloud his mind any further. After Nami had issued tasks to everyone, and they disembarked, he noticed the two other ships that were at the small dock. One was a red skull and standard crossbones with yellow spiral eye sockets, the other was a white skull split in half, purple on top and blue on the bottom and the crossbones were laid sideways parallel to the ground. He knew the first were nothing worth being concerned about.  The Red Tempest pirates were loud and obnoxious “weather workers” and Nami could swamp them with a disdainful glare.  The second crew, though, he’d encountered before when he’d been working as a bounty hunter.  The Still Water assassins guild were ruthless and formidable, and he’d need to keep an eye out to avoid them lest they try to cash in on any of the crew bounties, which meant trying to keep the ero-cook on task. Fuck, he’d hated Nami for pairing them up on a market run, but they’d left the dock and had made their way into the village.

Over the last hour, things had gone completely to shit as the fucking asshole cook seemed to be continuing the joke from when they’d been cooking that morning. The fuckhead curlybrow kept touching him to point out various female villagers and shopkeepers. A touch on to Zoro’s back, and the dartbrow pointed to a tall brunette girl talking to the butcher. A twirl and spin to flirt shamelessly with a winter fruit and vegetable vendor with an hourglass figure barely hidden underneath winter clothing.  A touch to the green haired man’s wrist, and the idiot blonde swooned at a buxom red headed miller, where they had to pick up all fucking manner of flour.  A touch to the back of the swordsman’s neck, and the shitty asshat noodled sweetly over to a small older woman who was selling flowers, somehow, in the middle of a deep winter village. And so on, and so on, and so fucking on, all the while piling Zoro up with more and more packages.  The swordsman was pretty much at the end of his patience when the shit cook stopped to smoke a cigarette.

“Why are we stopping, curly brow?” the swordsman asked, only to catch Sanji’s eye as the fucker giggled at him. Giggled! At! Him! That fucking shitty fucker!

“Just having a quick smoke, moron. Can’t a man have…” the shit cook said and waved his cigarette through the air in an ambivalent gesture before his eyes suddenly developed that panicked look Zoro had seen far too often this past couple of weeks.

“Shit cook?” the swordsman asked, then watched as Sanji’s legs gave out and the cook buckled to the ground.

“The marines are here!” Zoro heard Sanji hiss out, and watched further as the cook began to drag himself into an alley by his hands while muttering a stream of, “No. No no no no no no no.”

“FUCK! SANJI!” the green haired man shouted while dropping all of the packages and bags onto the street, his anger completely wiped away by Sanji’s distress. “FUCK! WHAT’S HAPPENING!? COOK! YOUR HANDS!” Shit! He followed the blonde into the alley and got to the cook just as the man hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness. Fuck! Sanji’s hands looked like they’d been abraded by one of the cheese graters in the galley and his knees didn’t look much better.

“What’s going on?” he heard Franky shout from behind him.

“I don’t know.” Zoro answered back as he slowly peeled the shredded gloves from the cook’s fingers. Fuck, he’d just healed these. “He shouted something about marines, then crawled into this alley before he passed out. Fuck! Can you and Jinbe grab all the groceries? He’d never forgive us if we left them here. I’ll pick him up and meet you back at the ship. Find Chopper if you can! Shit!” 

He heard Franky mutter something like, “Super on top of it!” but his focus had returned to Sanji. Zoro pulled off his own mittens and put them on Sanji’s hands then put one arm under the cook’s legs and one under his shoulders and gently lifted him, holding him close. The swordsman then took off running toward the ship carrying his precious bundle.

+++++++++++++++++++

Half an hour later Zoro found himself deep in the woods outside of the village. Fuckers had moved the docks again. Don’t they know they shouldn’t do shit like that in case of emergencies like this? FUCK!

The snow and wind was picking up and churning into a nasty blizzard. There was no way he’d be able to find the ship in this, not when they kept moving it. He’d set the cook down next to a large boulder in the lee side of the wind, and went to hunt down branches and fallen wood that he might use for a fire. Once he’d found some and sliced it up with this swords, he dug a pit out of the snow and ground and started the wood blazing using Sanji’s lighter. 

The swordsman then felled a couple trees and cut them into long boards which he slammed into the ground in a circular pattern near the boulder to give them some protection from the biting wind. Pulling the mittens carefully from Sanji’s hands, he gently washed them with the snow, then wrapped each finger individually in strips that he tore from his sash. He also cleaned the cook’s scraped knees and wrapped them as well.  His own hands were beginning to tingle a bit as he worked, and more than once he needed to pause while warming up his own hands near the fire. When finished, he put his own mittens back onto the cook’s injured hands.

He moved the cook near the fire and sat for a while with the blonde’s winter hatted head pillowed in his lap. Zoro began to absently stroke the barely visible eyebrow just under Sanji’s cap. What was he going to do? Lately, every time he looked at the man, his chest fluxuated between sharp pain and bubbly fluttering. What was this? What did the swordsman want? He didn’t want to lose this connection, but he didn’t know how to keep it when Sanji healed. That was what seemed to cause the most pain. He didn’t even know how to put into words what it was he wanted. Was it something he should want? Was it something he could even have? How did he ask for whatever it was, and was it something he should be asking for? Did he simply walk up to the cook and say, “I want this something from you, and I don’t know what it is or how to ask for it, but I think I’d be happy if I got it.”? What kind of a fucking moron says something like that?

As he pondered all of these things, the gray skies began to become darker and darker, as the blizzard continued to bluster and blow outside of his ad hock windbreak. Zoro looked down at the cook and quietly said, “What do I do with you? How do I explain the effect you have on me? I am losing control of my own body, fucking mind wizard, you are. I’ve trained my whole life for control, and you’ve got my fingers trying to touch your eyebrows all the time. Then this morning, you had my lips trying to do something to you that they’d probably need consent for. You’re the biggest fucking idiot I know, and I’m the biggest fucking idiot for even thinking there might be something.. shit..  Never mind. You’ll just call me a moron and try to kick me in the head.” 

He sighed and leaned back against the boulder then threw another few logs onto the fire.  Opening his coat, he pulled Sanji into his lap and tucked the cook’s legs up as far as he could, then closed his coat over them both, tucking his own legs underneath. He took his scarf that Franky had made, and wrapped it around both of their heads, then pulled his arms from the sleeves of his coat to wrap them tight around the cook before leaning back and drifting off to sleep. In those moments between waking and dreaming he might have felt the cook snuggle in a little bit, but he couldn’t be certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for sticking around with this story. You all have no idea how much it means that you’re still reading. December was insane. Work blew up and I was dealing with twice as many projects as usual. Then at the beginning of January some of my team were laid off and my workload increased even further to help pick up the slack. My brain has been mush and writing this chapter was like wrestling with an angry grizzly bear. But here it is.


	15. Sanji makes a move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanji sees the full picture and tries do to something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: depictions of depression and anxiety, references to PTSD

_The city was full of tall buildings made of steel and glass, taller than the tower in Alabasta, taller even than anything in Gemma 66. They reached up to the clouds menacingly, casting grim shadows over the streets. Sanji leaned his head back staring skyward to try to see the top of even one of them and felt a sharp but brief moment of fear that the structure had leaned ever slightly toward him as though to crush him beneath it._

_He was cold, and his hands ached.  Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was dressed in black cargo pants and a white t-shirt, with black boots, a long black overcoat, and three swords attached to his hip by a vivid azure sash. Something wasn’t right. His arms and legs looked a bit bigger than normal and he felt heavier.  Sanji looked at the mirrored surface of the building windows nearby and saw Zoro staring back at him.  He reached his hand up to the reflection, and it moved with him. Peering closer, he touched his hand to his face, brushing his fingers lightly over a scar and missing eye.  What the fuck was this? How was he Zoro?_

_Sanji reeled away from the mirror and, missing the curb, flailed inelegantly into the street, landing on his tailbone, his hands scraping forcefully along the pavement._

_“Whoa there, marimo,” the cook heard his own voice nearby dripping with fond affection, “Careful with that backside, mon doudou*! I’d like it to remain intact.”_

_He glanced up to see himself offering a hand up, leering smirk on full display.  His double was wearing a pair of dove gray slacks with a white t-shirt and black leather blazer. Sanji crab-walked quickly away before standing up and scowling at… himself._

_“Stay the fuck away from me,” he shouted, pulling one of his legs up into a guard position and trying to think of an appropriate insult. “Princess Pseudo-chef!” Why did his own voice sound like Zoro?  And why wouldn’t his legs move like they were supposed to? He cast his gaze around to see if Law was anywhere near and had switched out their bodies again._

_“Shitty moss for brains! You will take that back right now!” his double shouted at him, a small flash of hurt whisping across the man’s face and just as quickly gone. “What the fuck has gotten into you? I’m only here as a favor to you, asshole marimo, so you don’t get lost! You’re the one who wanted to see Ivankov’s new club.”_

_Ivankov’s new club?  Sanji’s legs were moving before he realized that he was running away. Nope. No Ivankov. Just nope.  All the nope with a side of nope and nope for dessert. He moved through the streets like they were rivers of molasses, while people kept crowding around him, pushing and shoving. Where did all these people come from? The cook could see his double stepping up into the air and grabbed a newspaper from a nearby stand to cover his, Zoro’s, his, fuck, telltale hair. Should he keep moving and get nowhere? Should he duck in somewhere and stop? Why couldn’t he get any speed? Every step took far too much effort in this body, and he needed to get away from his doppelganger before he was caught.  FUCK!_

_Sanji felt something squeeze his entire body as he heard his glorious earthquake utter, “Shhh! Hush, cook. It’s a dream.”  The scent of cinnamon, ginger, pepper, and chocolate wafted around him as a sudden lurch threw him into the air. It took a moment for him to realize that he was now standing in the air above the city, and he stopped, stunned.  It was that fucking All Blue eye again, except instead of being desert, it was buildings of steel and glass which were reflecting the azure sky.  Wow. Clouds were passing among the tall structures like busy people heading determinedly toward some destination. It was amazing, and Sanji’s heart stuttered for a moment at this feeling of utter insignificance and overwhelming awe at still being a part of whatever this was.  There weren’t words big enough for this._

_All to soon, the moment was snapped away as his foothold in the sky dropped and he plummeted toward the center of the eye.  Instead of hitting the ground, though, he passed through it and landed in a bed of grass surrounded by a field of sunflowers.  Sanji stood up and dusted off his overalls and straightened his ball cap.  There was music and some sort of giggling frivolity up ahead, and the cook pushed aside some of the tall green plants to head toward the noise._

_He could see a large tent had been raised, and among the celebratory voices, he could hear Zoro speaking. The swordsman’s voice sounded strange, like it was coming from a den den mushi or one of Usopp’s dials.  And the cook could barely make out what was being said. Something about mind wizards….and lips….and consent? Maybe?  Whatever it was it seemed to be on some kind of repeat loop, but it didn’t become any more clear as he reached the tent._

_When Sanji opened the tent flap, he was thrown back by the absolute chaos inside.  There were several what looked like circus rings, each with a projector den den mushi set up displaying various images on the screen.  There were large crowds of people in the stands surrounding each ring, all of them dressed in lavish colors and outfits._

_“SANJI BOY!” a voice screeched out of the crowd. Oh fuck. The cook turned to see the large purple haired okama racing toward him with arms open. “COME GIVE US A HUG! HEE-HAW!”_

_He managed to get his foot up barely in time to stop Ivankov from getting within grasping distance. “That’s far enough,” he sneered. “What the fuck are you doing here?”_

_“Oh? OH!” the large okama winked. “We have something for you… hee-haw! Come see!”_

_Sanji followed to the central ring and sat down in the chair at the edge where Ivankov indicated._

_“Time for the show, Sanji-boy!” the okama winked again and headed to the center of the ring.  All the lights went out in the tent except for a bright spotlight in the middle of the ring.  Ivankov had instantly changed into ringmaster’s garb and shouted to the cheering crowd around.  “AND NOW FOR OUR MAIN EVENT! WE PRESENT OUR HEADLINER, ZARINA AND HER FAMOUS FANS! HEE-HAW!”_

_The entire theater blackened and Sanji heard the staccato beat of a hide drum thumping as a solitary spotlight flared upon a single form in the middle of the ring.  His eyes tracked the body with interest from the ground up.  Sharp stiletto heeled shoes adorning the feet of long fishnet covered legs leading up to gently flared hips. He viewed her lovely cinched waist covered in emerald green strapless corsetry holding up ample breasts that would spill out of their containment if caressed by a gentle breeze and his heart sped up to match the pounding drum beats. The top of her face was covered in a black fabric scarf which tied in the back and hung down her shoulders, and her sensuous lips seemed set in a sneer.  She held a large fan in each of her elegant green gloved hands as she began to move in time with the rhythm._

_The dance, if he could call it that, wasn’t very fluid or sultry for that matter.  In spite of the costuming, the performance seemed more battle than burlesque.  Sharp lunges and retreats with sudden opening and closing of the fans. Turns and spins and kicks that he began to recognize.  And when she pulled a third fan out of the back of her corset, placed it in her teeth, and began to incorporate it into the form, his lust turned livid._

_“YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ZORO!? STOP THIS RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKERS, AND YOU CHANGE ZORO BACK! YOU RUINED HIM! HE WAS PERFECT AND YOU RUINED HIM!” Sanji shrieked as he stormed into the ring, grabbing the dancer and pulling her into a protective embrace. “Fuck, Zoro, fuck! I’m so sorry. How did this happen? We’ll fix this. Please let me fix this.”_

_“Shit cook, settle down. Fuck! My coat is stuck! Ouf!” he heard his beautiful earthquake grunt into his ear.  He tried to run but his limbs felt bound and he couldn’t move, and the dancer’s form dissipated from his sight._

_“NO! LET ME GO! FUCK! I HAVE TO SAVE ZORO, LET ME GO!” Sanji launched himself upward only to bash head first into something startlingly hard and the world fell away into white._

++++++++++++++++++++

The first things Sanji noticed as he came into wakefulness were warmth and the scent of spiced cocoa and steel he was beginning to become inordinately fond of.  He was encased and being gently rocked and he would have let himself drift for a while were it not for the distressed muttering next to his ear.

“Fuck. Wake up, cook. Shit. It was an accident,” Zoro was plaintively rambling and Sanji felt a chilly wetness drip onto his cheek. “Shit on a fucking stick, cook! Don’t die on me!”

“Zoro,” the cook rasped and wheezed a little as the arms holding him squeezed a little tighter.

“Cook,” the swordsman rumbled quietly, letting out a relieved huff. “How’s your head?”

Now that the marimo had mentioned it, the top of his head did feel a bit strange.  Like it wanted to be in pain but hadn’t quite decided yet.  And as much as the chef tangled with the idea that it would be just lovely to stay here, safe, warm, and cared for, there were other pressing matters at the moment.

“Let me out, please. I need to pee,” he said softly, snaking his mittened hand up to gently brush Zoro’s chin. Did the swordsman flinch? What? Why would he flinch?

“The coat is stuck,” Zoro muttered sheepishly as Sanji glanced up through the coat collar at the firelight flickering across the underside of the swordsman’s jaw.

“If I piss myself because of this, I will kick you so hard you will taste your own shit,” the chef said sweetly, humming with regret that he couldn’t stay. “Now stand us both up and I’ll shimmy my way out.”

Sanji had to double check himself that he wasn’t still dreaming as the swordsman drew him close, one strong arm around his lower back, the other secure behind his shoulder blades, and pulled them both to standing. The chef’s heart staggered drunkenly for a moment, his fluffy mittened hands resting on Zoro’s chest, and how did he end up wearing the swordsman’s mittens? He wanted to linger there, the two of them almost sharing breath.  It was incredibly romantic, but his bladder was screaming insistently. He dropped himself below the bottom of the coat, regretting that he couldn’t take the route slowly.

He leaped up over the oddly new looking windbreak and fuck it was cold. It took him a few moments to find a spot in the snow where he didn’t sink to his hip and sting his knees.  Pulling off the mittens, he noticed his hands felt weird and they ached.  It was too dark to tell, but it seemed they’d been bandaged.  He finished his business quickly and lit a cigarette before returning to the swordsman.

Zoro was crouched down near the fire, which was blazing a bit more fervently than it had been before he left. In the flickering light, the cook was able to take a closer look at the bandaging on his hands.

“Marimo?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. “What happened to my hands?”  Sanji walked closer to the fire to get a better look at his fingers.  The light was still dim, but he could see they were covered in ragged cloth strips that looked nothing like the bandaging that Chopper used.  Zoro hadn’t moved and hadn’t answered the question.

“Well?” the cook said and took a few more steps closer to the swordsman.  He recognized this cloth and all at once he lunged toward Zoro, ripping the coat zipper and throwing it wide open. Sanji’s shaking hand touched the bottom of the swordsman’s shirt where he could see the straggling threads from where the cloth had been torn. A picture was beginning to form in his head as he looked around at the windbreak and the fire. The food, the nights holding him, the healing care, and now this.  Fuck. Putting all the pieces together with what Usopp had told him, Zoro hadn’t been playing hard to get the previous day, he’d already been gotten, and Sanji hadn’t seen it before now.  The man had spent the night making sure Sanji was warm and safe in this frigid forest, apparently at his own expense given the torn shirt and the unmittened hands.  And knowing the green haired man, he’d probably tried getting Sanji to the ship and gotten lost.  Fuck! The cook’s stomach began to flip around like a fish on the deck of the Sunny. His chest felt heavy and light, while his throat got choked and his vision of the swordsman became a watery blur.  Was this what true unfettered happiness felt like? Like vomiting and laughing and falling into a weepy mess all at the same time?

The cook stepped closer into Zoro’s space and glanced into the swordsman’s eye as fire light flickered across his beloved’s face. Sanji watched the swordsman’s visage switch from panic to sadness to resignation to a steel blankness before quietly speaking the words in his heart, “Zoro, I think I...”

“Stop,” Zoro said suddenly, as his eye shifted to the ground. “Just stop. Don’t say something we’ll both regret. We should head back to the ship.”

Sanji watched stunned as Zoro turned and bounded over the windbreak. What had just happened? Fuck. FUCK!  He’d thought the swordsman would be happy to have his affection returned. He was sure! They should be giddily happy, holding hands and kissing and other things!  Everything the crew had insinuated, everything Usopp and Robin had told him…. The cook’s chest squeezed painfully, and bile swirled in the back of his throat. What went wrong? He swallowed a few times and blinked the tears from his eyes. Yes, tears.  His heart, fuck! He knew what a broken heart felt like, he’d had enough of them.  At least with the women, he’d learned to expect it, and that expectation always buffeted his feelings.  But this was worse somehow, why did this feel so much worse?  With the swordsman, he hadn’t expected this.  Zoro didn’t have it in him to be coy or lead someone on. He knew Zoro felt something! How had things gone so wrong?  He needed to fix this! Needed to make Zoro see!

There was no time to think about this. Shit. The moron marimo was going to get himself lost again.  Sanji could fall apart once they got back to the ship.  He kicked a pile of snow onto the fire to put it out and then bounded after the swordsman.

++++++++++++++++++++

By the time they made it back to the Sunny the sky had turned a lighter shade of dismal. Sanji had tried to strike up a conversation, or even a fight, but each time the surly swordsman had cut him off and refused to engage. The cook wished desperately to know what he’d done wrong.

The whole crew was on deck when Sanji and Zoro climbed the gangplank. The cook had tried to grab the swordsman’s hand, but Zoro shook him off and stomped past all of them heading who knows where, not even paying attention to Luffy’s calls of “Hey, Zoro! Hey! Zoro!”.  When Usopp caught the cook’s eye with a hopeful grin, Sanji just shook his head. He couldn’t explain what had happened. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, given that his chest was full of crawling snakes which kept creeping up his throat and causing his eyes to water. He wasn’t sure he could speak without his voice wavering.

Nami-swan approached him and took one of his hands into hers, turning it over to look at the bandaging. “Sanji-kun, what happened to your hands?”

“Nothing you need be concerned with, my angel,” Sanji said, grimacing as his voice cracked and feeling so heavy at the moment, he couldn’t even make the effort to noodle at her care. He pulled his lips up into a sad mockery of a grin which never reached his eyes.

They all heard a loud crack from the forecastle and glanced up to watch as the green haired man pulled the railing off the balustrade and threw it down to the deck, denting some of the turf at Sanji’s feet. The cook tried to catch the swordsman’s gaze as he could feel Zoro’s killing intent crashing across the deck. But as soon as it came, it was gone.  And he saw Zoro hunch his shoulders briefly before storming round the ship and finally up the ladder to the crow’s nest. What had the cook done wrong? Everything was so fucked up and Sanji didn’t have any idea how to get anything back to the way it was. It must have been him who made the mistake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything? Maybe he shouldn’t have even tried?  If he'd just left things as they were, he wouldn’t be feeling like his world was crashing. Fuck.

“Shit!” Sanji heard Franky mutter nearby. “We’re going to be here for at least a week on repairs already, if Zoro-bro keeps this up it’ll be even more.”

The cook watched out of the corner of his eye as Luffy launched himself toward the crow’s nest screaming Zoro’s name. Sanji took a deep breath to settle the heart rattling jaggedly in his chest and withdrew his hand from Nami-swan’s grip.  He offered her a slight bow before grabbing the blue nosed reindeer by the collar and saying, “Chopper, may I see you in the infirmary for a moment please?”

The cook sat quietly on the infirmary bed while the little doctor rebandaged his hands and knees and peppered him with questions about the injuries, which Sanji refused to answer.  When the small reindeer finished, he took the blonde haired man’s hand and asked softly, “Sanji, what happened with Zoro?”

Sanji felt his control crack, then shatter, as everything he’d been feeling rushed out of him.  All the disappointed hope, and despairing grief for what might have been. Large heaving sobs lurched from his chest as he uttered the only answer he had, “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened, Chopper. Fuck! I don’t know.”

He heard the doctor say, “Heavy Point,” before two strong furry arms came around him and pulled him close.

++++++++++++++++++++

The chef shuffled despondently around the galley. He’d finished cleaning up after the chaos of the crew’s meal and placed a tray with a specially prepared dinner created from one of the high protein attack cuisine recipes into Robin’s waiting hands.

“It’s been four days. Is there anything else I can do to help? Anything I should say to him?” she asked. Sanji flinched as he felt a hand wipe a stray tear from his cheek before it puffed away into a shower of petals. He hadn’t been able to bear anyone touching him much in the last few days.

“No, my dove. Thank you for the generous offer. Just make sure he eats it all, my dearest, he’s probably been working out harder than usual,” he replied with a grim smile that didn’t reach his eyes by way of apology, glad that for once his voice hadn’t cracked.

After Robin had left, Sanji walked into the storage room and curled into a ball behind a barrel of winter apples.  It was one of the few places he was certain there would be no chance of encountering the swordsman he wasn’t ready to see.  He hadn’t slept much in the last four days and his exhaustion was making the bouts of stomach-churning anxiety even more difficult to cope with. The first night, when he’d gone out on deck to the bed he and Zoro had been sharing, he’d felt like he’d been skewered in the chest.  The swordsman had moved all the blankets, bedding, and mattress back into the men’s bunkroom.  Sanji had cried himself to sleep on the couch in the galley that night. He still couldn’t bear sleeping in the confines of the bunkroom. But after waking up in the galley in complete darkness shouting loud enough that Chopper had needed to sedate him, the cook had taken to shivering naps on the deck chairs interspersed with panicking dry heaves. What sleep he did manage to find was fraught with nightmares of desolate islands, subterranean prison cells and abandonment.

Time had become a bit meaningless.  During the day when he wasn’t cooking, he’d been huddling in the storage room as minutes and hours passed around him. He knew he couldn’t sleep in here, but he could at least drift.  He’d started setting timers so he’d know when he should begin cooking the next meal, because his nakama needed to eat.  He was grateful for his crew, even if he hadn’t yet been able to talk to any of them about what was going on between himself and the swordsman.  They’d each in their own way tried to be supportive and cheer him up, finishing his shopping, helping with food preparation, tidying up after meals, coming into the galley to talk near him while he worked. But there were only so many times he could hear excuses and platitudes before he would want to escape and hide in the tangerine grove with only his cigarettes for company.  The cold would always chase him back inside, however, and the cycle of doubt and self-recrimination would start all over again.

He’d failed and he knew it was his own failure. Something he’d done or said. Had he come on too strong? Not strong enough? Had he figured things out too late? Had he not been direct enough? Or too direct? Zoro was enough of a moron that Sanji had needed to spell things out for him.  But when he’d tried, the swordsman had what? Told him not to say something they’d regret? What had happened?  What had he done wrong? This wasn’t like their usual collisions, where they sniped and riled each other up.  Somehow, he’d made Zoro believe that he’d regret caring for the swordsman. The misunderstanding was obviously his fault. How did he fix this? Could this be fixed? Was there even a this anymore to fix?

The bag of cats began rumbling through his stomach again as these thoughts chased around and around in his mind. Fortunately, he hadn’t been hungry enough to eat much today, and all that came up when the heaving started was some water and bile.  It had been fairly easy to sit next to Luffy during meals and shuffle his food to his captain’s plate with a minimal slight of hand. The chef had felt full after only one or two bites anyway.

Once he’d stopped heaving into the nearby bucket, Sanji toppled back down on the floor and leaned against the barrel hoping he might get some rest while waiting for the rest of the crew to go to bed so he could sneak out to the deck chair he’d claimed for sleep. Shit, he still needed to write up the meal plans for the following day, but he couldn’t find the motivation to move.  At least none of them had tried to take away his purpose yet, in spite of the lack luster meals he knew he’d been creating. They’d done fine without him for weeks while he’d been gone and then recovering, it seemed, did they even honestly need him around anymore?

When Sanji heard shouting outside the galley and something smashed into the dining room door, he turned to burrow deeper behind the barrel. It was probably Luffy bouncing around the deck in some shenanigan or other.  Not his concern.  The cook began reciting recipes in his head to keep his mind occupied while he attempted to reach a lulled fugue state that at least allowed him a modicum of rest.  There was more yelling and several more bangs against the wall of the galley that he barely registered, tucking his hands into his chest.  After one last bash against the galley wall, the chef heard the door open and someone shuffled in.  Whoever it was started banging around some pans on the stove, and Sanji began to hear something sizzling. It smelled like….eggs? He let the sounds of the kitchen soothe him for a while.  Even if he wasn’t cooking, the rattling kitchen noises always gave him a sense of peace and home, of belonging. And he needed that so desperately.

“Cook,” Zoro queried from the dining room, startling the chef from his meditative state. Sanji heard steps approach the storage room and found he couldn’t wedge himself any tighter behind the barrel.  Fuck. His stomach tied itself into an even tighter knot. He did not want the swordsman to see him like this. Shit. He stretched his legs out in front of himself, crossing them ankle over ankle, pulled out a cigarette even though he never made a practice of smoking in the storage room, and attempted to put on a visage of casual indifference that he absolutely did not feel. 

Sanji kept his eyes on the floor and watched Zoro’s feet come around one of the crates. Breathe in, hold, breathe out, breathe in, hold, breathe out.  The last thing he needed to do right now was go into a full on panic while the swordsman was watching him.  He’d done enough of that shit in front of the marimo over the last several weeks.  Keeping his eyes down, he glanced around to see if there was some kind of exit strategy he could form.  His eyes caught the bucket. Fuck.  The bucket. The one he’d been dry heaving into just moments before. He needed to stop staring at the bucket, it wasn’t important. Why the fuck couldn’t he stop staring at the bucket? It was mocking him, or berating him, into revealing all his shitty secrets.

“You look like shit,” Zoro said but his voice didn’t carry the mocking tone that Sanji would have expected, he’d sounded almost sad.  The chef looked up in surprise to take in the sight of the swordsman in all of his shitty glory. The green haired man’s overcoat was torn in several places, one of his pant legs had been ripped and the other scorched, and he was missing a boot. There appeared to be splotches of something staining his shoulders and hair.  A red handprint had traced its way across the swordsman’s cheek and his good eye had been blackened quite nicely. 

“You’re one to talk, marimo. Why do you smell like ozone and Usopp’s explosive pepper pods?” Sanji said raising an eyebrow and attempting a sneer he was certain came out looking more like a grimace.  Why was the swordsman in here? Holding a plate? Shit! If Zoro had wanted a snack, he should have asked, or had someone else ask.  The chef would have been ecstatic to make something special for him.

“Can I sit?” Zoro asked, gesturing to the space next to Sanji that was currently occupied by the bucket.

“Could I stop you?” the chef asked, magnanimously sliding the bucket away with one of his feet.

The swordsman placed the plate on top of the winter apple barrel and sat down next to the blonde, hip to hip. He seemed to deflate entirely, and leaned to rest his head upon Sanji’s shoulder.  It was so amazingly nice to simply feel the swordsman’s warmth next to him, and the idiotic butterflies playing tag in his chest needed to settle the fuck down.  Sanji listened to Zoro huff a few times before he watched as the green haired man slowly reached over and grabbed the chef’s closest hand and tangled their fingers together. WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING? The chef could not pull his gaze from the swordsman’s knuckle scraped thumb as it traced swirls and patterns over the back of his hand. BREATHE! FUCKING BREATHE! DAMNIT ALL TO SHIT AND BACK! Zoro turned his face toward Sanji and reached up to swipe a tear off Sanji’s face with his free hand before leaning back upon the chef’s shoulder. Sanji was going to give his eyes a seriously stern talking to about their betrayal. Shit. He wished he could smell the delicious spiced cocoa scent he found so comforting, but his sinuses were stinging from the overwhelming astringency of Usopp’s pepper pods.  He decided he was going to blame any of his tears on that and not the ridiculously giddy galloping his heart was doing at the moment.

“Zoro,” he croaked, still staring at the hand holding his as he leaned his head to rest it against the swordsman’s. He hated that his voice was wavering as his throat burned and threatened to choke him. It was the pepper, damnit! “What are we doing?”

“I made you a sandwich,” came the quiet reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: These stupid boys. This chapter was a serious struggle. But here it is.
> 
> *Mon doudou = my blankie. It’s that one item which a young child refuses to sleep without.
> 
> I want to put a PSA out here about depression and anxiety. The depiction here is what the worst of my depression looked like, and mine went on for about a year before I was able to get through it to the other side. I’m in a good place now, and have been for several years, but you might not be. If you ever start feeling or thinking or doing things like Sanji is doing here (hiding, not eating, not sleeping, erroneous introspection, anxiety causing dry heaves, etc.), please, find someone to talk to. A crisis or suicide hotline in your area can be super helpful at getting you through some of the worst, even if you don’t feel suicidal. Those hotlines are there to let you have an anonymous person to listen to you. They get you talking to a person so you know you are not alone with what you’re going through. And they have tools to help you find free or low-cost support beyond that phone call. So please reach out. Keep in mind even if you don’t feel immediately suicidal, there are behaviors that you can do during a depression that can still be detrimental to your health, like not eating or over eating, or cutting, or drug or alcohol abuse, or other such things. You might not be actively trying to kill yourself, but you are harming yourself. Please. Depression whispers lies of self-recrimination and worthlessness, and I’m telling you truly, you are a beautiful person, and I for one want to see you thriving. Don’t suffer in silence.


End file.
